


take your time (coming home)

by colourexplosion



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Spoilers, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:19:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/pseuds/colourexplosion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which everyone splits up after the events of the movie, and Tony doesn't think about why none of them contact him. </p><p>(Post-Avengers 2012 film, MAJOR spoilers)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll Find Someone To Stitch Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd as always (if anyone is interested in becoming a beta, send me a message!), title of this work is from a FUN. song of the same name, so does chapter title.

Tony can count the number of times he's died on one hand. 

Once, right after his parents had died and then Jarvis, and he'd never felt more alone in his life, not even when he was eight and he could feel the weight of his father's disapproval and the press of his mother's thin fingers against his spine, making him stand straight. At age seventeen, he'd sat alone in the mansion, listening for the sound of Jarvis' footsteps or the click of his mother's heels, or even his father swearing under his breath. It did not come, however, and so Tony took swig after swig from his bottle, put pill after pill into his mouth and waited until his world faded to black. 

He woke up some days later in a bright hospital room, Rhodey by his side. 

"You scared me, man," he'd said, and Tony hadn't answered. 

Another is one people know about, the one that makes Tony feel vulnerable, open, exposed when he talks about it. So, his solution is that he doesn't talk about it. In any case, it's the deal with the cave and the kidnapping and the arc reactor in his chest built from a box of scraps. The precursor to Iron Man. Everyone knows this story. Well, most of it. What they don't know is what Tony doesn't tell-- the thrum of the reactor in his chest, the terrifying flicker of the car battery from time to time, the jolt of electricity through his body when it shorts out as he is violently submerged, over and over again, into the dirty cave water. He figures people don't need to know that. 

The third is the flight through an opening in space-time, carrying a nuclear warhead and trying to call Pepper (Tony doesn't think about the fact that if he hadn't woken up, she never would have known how much he loves her) before his systems shut down. 

He always wakes up, of course, because he's Tony Stark, and he never goes down without a fight. He cracks a joke, smiles, reassures everyone and resolutely ignores the fact that no one reassures him. 

\---

After the debacle with the shawarma restaurant-- look, he didn't know it was going to be _that_ bad, he'd just wanted to try it-- the team goes their separate ways, and that's fine. Tony has Pepper, and Bruce, who he's invited to come and live in the Tower once it's been remodeled. 

"Always room for you, big guy," he grins easily, slapping Bruce on the shoulder, and Bruce smiles back at him. 

"That's what you think," he answers, but he comes back anyway, takes a room in the middle of the building with a big window, so he can always see what surrounds him. 

And it's peaceful in the Tower with Pepper and Bruce. Tony still spends most of his time down in his workshop, Pepper's almost always traveling for Stark Industries, and Bruce will disappear for days or weeks at a time and come back with strange gifts for them from South America or India or Asia (Tony asked Bruce once, if he'd gone to Tibet, but Bruce had just smiled and patted his shoulder), but when they all manage to find each other in the living room and sit down on the couch for a movie, well, those are Tony's favorite times. 

From time to time he thinks about Natasha and Clint, and how they are. He wonders if Fury has them doing missions still, or if he's keeping them safe in case of another large-scale attack. He thinks about Cap sometimes too, and whether or not he knows how to work a cell phone or a computer and then quickly pushes the thought away. 

He doesn't think about Coulson. 

Eventually, he gets to the point where he doesn't really think about any of them because he's too busy designing and inventing and creating. It's not that he doesn't care about them, because Tony Stark does not let his affections wane easily once someone has gained them, but instead he lets himself get distracted, because that's easier than thinking about why none of them have contacted him. 

\---

He runs into Captain America at the bodega. 

Well, he runs into Steve, actually, since he's not in costume, but it's still almost one in the morning and Tony just needs milk,-- because he knows Pepper will get mad if she wakes up in the morning if there's no milk and he doesn't want to get that look from Bruce-- and Tony can't help but think of him as Captain. Or Rogers. 

But, he supposes, that he could think of him as Steve since no one's suited up and Steve's actually wearing what seems to be workout clothes as he browses through the milk. He's also kind of sweaty, which is surprising. Doesn't he shower before leaving his apartment? 

"I hear organic milk's the way to go nowadays," Tony says from behind him, and Steve _jumps_ , spins around so fast that it makes Tony dizzy. 

"Stark," he says, sounding a little breathless, and Tony ignores the sting of the last name basis. 

"The one and only," he smiles tightly at Steve-- no, at Rogers-- and motions to the case behind him. "May I?"

"Of course," Steve says immediately, moving out of the way but holding the door open. Tony scans the shelves for the one with the label that Pepper likes and grabs it, then grabs one of chocolate milk for himself. 

"Thanks," he says, moving down the aisle, pretending to look for something else while Steve clearly struggles with the variety of choices. Eventually, Tony sidles back up, reaches in the fridge and grabs a bottle, presses it into Steve's hands. 

"This kind's good. Thick, like it used to be and not full of hormones." 

Steve looks down at the bottle in his hands and then back up at Tony, nodding. 

"Thanks, Tony," he says quietly, and Tony waves a hand. 

"You looked like a kicked puppy, and everyone knows I have a soft spot for small, helpless animals. Also, you're wasting energy, close the fridge for God's sake," he rambles, ushering Steve down the aisle. 

"How have you been?" Steve asks him, planting his feet so suddenly that Tony nearly slams into his back. 

"Uh- Good. I've been good," he replies, pleased to find that it's not a lie. 

"You look good. Have you- uh- have you seen anyone?" Steve asks, blushing and Tony is confused. 

"What do you mean, 'seen anyone'? I see a lot of people, Steve. I'm seeing you right now, in fact, and--" 

"Have you had any contact with the other team members, I mean." 

"Oh." Tony shrugs. "Yeah? Kind of? Bruce lives in the Tower with me and Pepper. He kind of comes and goes but mostly we all just, live together in harmony. I haven't heard from either of the SHIELD agents, but you know how they are. The only times I ever saw Coul-" He cuts himself off with a coughing fit that lasts so long his eyes sting with tears and Steve's using his super strength to smack him on the back. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine, stop hitting me, please," he says finally, waving his hands at Steve to get him to stop. His eyes are wide with concern, and Tony hopes to god that they don't have to talk about the fact that he just mentioned Coulson. 

"Are you alright?" Steve asks carefully. 

"Definitely, just tired. Actually, I- uh- need to get back. Pep's waiting, and so is Bruce, for that matter. But it was nice to see you, Steve," he says, taking some bills out of his wallet and throwing it at the cashier without waiting for the change. "You should come by the Tower sometime. Just call me. Or Pep. Or Bruce, I guess, and uh, yeah I'll see you!" 

He runs out of the store so fast he nearly trips on the tables set outside the cafe next to his bodega.


	2. Often I Wonder Why I Try

_Ba da da da da da da daaaaaa_

Tony snorts in his sleep, rolls over, taking the blankets with him. 

_Ba da da da da da da daaaaaa_

"Sir," Jarvis says, starling Tony awake. "You have an incoming call from Captain Rogers on your personal mobile device." 

_Who's strong and brave, here to save the American way,_ his phone screeches at him from across the room, and Tony sighs. 

"Answer it, Jarvis," he grumbles. 

"Certainly, sir." 

"Tony?" Steve's voice comes through confused, but crystal clear, and hell, if that doesn't wake Tony right up. 

"We got a problem, Cap?" he says instantly, sitting up in bed, ready to go and fight some weird green aliens. 

"No, no, I just-" Tony can hear a noisy street in the background, cars rushing past and people talking, "I was just wondering if you were free to- to hang out, I guess." 

"Hang out," Tony repeats, monotone. 

"Yeah. It's kind of- I don't want-" Steve pauses, and Tony hears him take a deep breath, like he's doing yoga or something. He gets distracted by the thought of Steve contorting himself into different positions, and okay, he's in a mostly stable relationship with Pepper, but he's allowed to at least think about it, right? 

"Tony? Are you listening?" Steve sounds almost frustrated now, and Tony blinks. 

"What? I'm sorry, I am, I just got distracted-"

Steve sighs, disappointed, and Tony winces. 

"Nevermind," Steve tells him. "I'm sorry I interrupted whatever it was you were doing. I'll leave you to-" 

"I wasn't doing anything but sleeping, Steve. Please, tell me what you need to tell me." 

"I'm tired of being in my apartment alone," he answers finally, so quietly that Tony almost strains to hear it. 

"You're always welcome here," Tony says, and it's not even a lie. If he can't share his home for someone who he's fought with, who can he share it with? "Let me get up and shower. Do you know where it is? Just make your way over here, Jarvis will let you in." 

"Thank you, Tony," Steve says, but Tony's already not paying attention again. 

"Don't mention it. See you soon." 

\---

The thing about Bruce, Tony mulls over in the shower, is that that Tony respects him. 

Everyone thinks that when he made that crack when they first met, the "I'm a big fan of the way your turn into a giant green rage monster" comment, that Tony had been kidding. He wasn't. He recognizes Bruce's inner strength, how hard it must be to control the so called monster inside of him at all times. 

He'd meant it when he'd said that level of gamma radiation exposure should have killed him, Tony's done the math, and he's never wrong. But the way Bruce had just scoffed at him and pushed him away, well, Tony knows all about that, too. 

And the thing about Cap is, well, that Tony respects him as well, but it's clear that Cap doesn't think much of him. 

"Is everything a joke to you?" His voice had been full of disgust and Tony's always on the offense. 

"Only if it's funny." 

And sure, they can work together and maybe even talk about things sometimes and get along decently most of the time, but Tony knows-- he's read the reports, seen the news footage-- that the main difference between Captain America and Bruce is that one of them cut their losses and let Tony sacrifice himself for the good of the team and the other saved his life. 

\---

Tony dresses himself quickly and makes his way into the kitchen to forage for food. He realizes that he has no idea what time it is, so he asks Jarvis. 

"The time is 4:03pm, sir, I suggest that you eat a snack before Master Bruce prepares dinner," Jarvis tells him from above, and Tony nods. Bruce has been gone for a few days, and Tony's secretly glad to hear he's back. He's getting tired of Chinese food. And of not eating. 

"What's he making?" 

"I am not certain, sir," Jarvis replies quickly, and Tony frowns. 

"Why don't you know? It's your job to know everything."

"As you have not yet installed a mind-reading program into my system, I am afraid that your question will go unanswered." 

"Oh, you're snappy today, what happened? Did Pepper pour water in your speaker again? Because I'm sure that was an accident. But, really, you can't use the data of all the dinners he's made on each day he's come back and run a probability spec or something? Really? Do I need to update you again?" 

"It would be nice to be looked after, sir." 

"Jarvis, if you wanted a little attention all you had to do was ask. You know I'm always here for you." Tony chuckles, opening the fridge and bending over to dig around. "Now tell me what Bruce is making so I can plan my snack accordingly." 

"I was thinking about shawarma," Bruce says from the kitchen door, and Tony jumps, swears loudly when he whacks his head on the refrigerator shelf. "But I can be persuaded otherwise." 

"Good to have you back, buddy," Tony says, rubbing the sore spot on his head. He'll forget about it soon, because that's what he does, and because he's genuinely glad Bruce is back. He has a product he's been waiting to show him, and he's been getting antsy. 

"Oh, by the way, ran into Cap at the bodega the other night, told him to call sometime and, uh, well he did? So he's coming over for dinner." He checks his hand for blood, and nope, all clean, great. 

"Are you guys going to spend all night fighting?" Bruce asks him wearily. He has a pinched look on his face, kind of like a grimace, and Tony blinks at him. "Because that stresses me out."

Is Bruce- is he _pouting_? Tony laughs and claps him on the back. 

"Oh, cheer up honeybear, don't be jealous. I know you want some alone time with me, but don't worry, Captain Rogers and I will get along just fine. I promise. For your sake." He pauses. "And my furniture's. Can you make tacos for dinner?" 

Bruce just rolls his eyes and tells Tony to get out of his kitchen.


	3. Well I Told You To Be Patient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, I'm going to try really hard to do regular updates, but I have a three hour class everyday about slave literature and I'm also in a play that opens wednesday, so if they're a little irregular this week, I'm sorry! thank you all for reading, though! also this story does eventually contain some tony/steve, and tony/pepper is dealt with, I am nowhere near done and have no idea how long it will end up being. enjoy!

"Sir, Captain Rogers is at the door," Jarvis tells him, and Tony looks up from his book long enough to see him on the security feed. 

"Right, be up in a minute," he says, throwing his book down and making his way toward the elevator. 

"Hey Cap," he says, once he opens the front door, and Steve smiles at him, full of relief. 

"Are you sure it's okay that I'm here?" 

"Completely fine, but we can't fight, Bruce says it stresses him out and I just finished remodeling everything from the last time," Tony moves to the side, lets Steve come in. 

"Bruce has hulked out in here?" Steve looks concerned, which Tony is confused about since no one has made an effort to contact them. Ever. And Tony would have gladly filled any one of them in on the goings-on at Stark Tower, had he thought they cared. 

"Uh, yeah. He's been living here for like, almost a year, Cap, it's kind of hard to avoid." 

Steve looks hurt, a sort of pinched look between his eyes that Tony would feel bad about, but it's not like they didn't have telephones in the Forties. "I didn't know that," he says, and Tony shrugs.

"Yeah, it's not a big deal. I know how to calm him down, and most of the stuff is reinforced. Not a problem. Come on, this way," he leads Steve to the elevator, swipes his card, presses the button for the common area of the living room/kitchen floor, just under the bedrooms. He'd make some crack about the telephone, but Steve still looks sort of hurt, and Tony really doesn't want to fight with him again. 

"What are all the floors?" Steve asks, finger trailing over the buttons. 

"Ah, well, these--" Tony motions to the top ten floors, "are all R&D, research and development. So, offices, basically, and a small lab. These," he motions to the next ten, "are more offices, but for lame things like marketing and payroll, pencil pushers, you know. There's another ten floors of storage, just for buffer, five floors of bedrooms and bathrooms, a kitchen and living area, more storage, the ground floor, and then my workshop is underground. Anyone who works here only has access to the offices and a few of the storage levels, and me, Pepper and Bruce have access to every floor. Except my lab, only me and Pepper have access to that. Bruce has his own lab. And all the floors interconnected with stairs, and the elevator, and there's a few balconies. I thought you'd been here before." 

Steve blinks at him. "Only once, the time with Loki. It didn't really look the same." 

"Oh, right," Tony answers awkwardly, and the elevator slows, the door opens. "Honey, I'm home," Tony calls, "and I brought a friend!" 

Bruce emerges from the kitchen, wearing a pink apron that Tony swears is the only one they own. He thinks it might be Pepper's, actually, and he's certain Bruce is the only one who has ever worn it. 

"Hey Captain, it's good to see you," he says, coming forward to shake Steve's hand, but Steve just laughs at him. 

"Please, I think we're past that. Call me Steve," he says as they half-hug, and Tony looks away, because he's never been invited to call him Steve. 

"Sure, Steve," Bruce says carefully, looking at Tony, who shrugs at him, rolls his eyes. 

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Tony says, his arm halfway to Steve's shoulder before he realizes that the last time he did that it didn't end well. He jerks it up, away from him, hoping Steve doesn't notice or boils it down to some eccentricity that Tony has. 

"We have a huge gym below this floor. Want to see? Bruce gets mad if we try to help him." 

"Hey, you set the kitchen on fire the last time, and we had to order from that disgusting Thai place." Bruce points a finger at him, and his tone sounds angry but his eyes spark with laughter that Tony finds startlingly familiar. 

"Jarvis put it out, I don't see the big deal," Tony waves a hand at him. 

"The kitchen smelled like burnt turkey for _weeks_." 

"Oh please," Tony rolls his eyes. "Like it smells like anything that isn't burnt." Bruce's eyes widen at him, and Tony holds his hands up in defeat. 

"Kidding, I'm kidding, please don't throw me out the window again, o Green One." 

"He threw you out the window?" Steve cuts in, eyes widening in shock.

"It was a training exercise, I was in the suit, it's fine," Tony answers, turning back to Bruce, who looks properly chagrinned.

"I don't want your motor-oil covered fingers in my sauce, get out," he says, without any real bite to it, and Tony laughs. 

"Come on, Cap, let's leave Bruce here. You're gonna love this gym, promise." 

"Sure," Cap answers, and Tony leads him away so Bruce can cook.

\---

"Tony, this is amazing," Steve says, looking around the gym with wide eyes. There's a sparring mat next to a boxing ring on one side, a row of punching bags that are programmed to fight back (not that Steve knows that, yet, but Tony's waiting for the look on his face when he finds out), a large space in the middle of the room for stretching or yoga or tai chi or whatever else floats your boat, a row of treadmills, elliptical machines, stationary bikes set up in front of a large television, and sets of weights lining the back wall.

"That door leads to a locker room with showers and stuff, don't worry they all have stalls and are cleaned every day, I don't think anyone will steal your stuff. The employees aren't allowed to use this gym, there's one higher up for them. I wanted to put a pool in, but it turns out they have to be on the ground floor or something, I don't know, Pepper didn't like the idea, so we scrapped it. Maybe I'll add one to one of the balconies, though," Tony thinks about it for a moment, and doesn't notice when Steve starts moving around. 

"Did you design all of this?" Steve asks him, pulling Tony out of his thoughts momentarily. He's standing next to one of the punching bags. 

"Ah, those? Yes. I'd be careful, they hit back once they turn on. They're prototypes, I don't actually know how well they fight with other people. Uh, the bikes and stuff I just bought and upgraded, and the television is StarkTech, of course. The picture's a little fuzzy, actually, I might need to get that looked at." He's gone back into his thoughts again, not noticing that Steve's started moving again. 

"Can I see your workshop?" Steve asks quietly, coming back to him, and Tony blinks out of his thoughts. 

"Sure," he answers before he can think. "Let's go." 

\---

The workshop, for once, is relatively clean. 

The word 'relatively' is important here, because it's obvious that Jarvis has ordered his robot minions to clean up the trash and old food, so really all that's strewn around is scraps of metal and half-finished products. Thankfully, nothing's sparking. 

He taps in the code and lets Steve in, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. 

"This is it, basically," he shrugs, because there's no use in explaining what everything is. He doesn't want to overwhelm Steve, who, he can tell, has been overwhelmed since he let him in the building. 

"Who is this little guy?" Steve laughs, and Tony turns to see Dummy next to Steve, opening and closing his metal hand, clicking and whirring up a storm. 

"Oh, that's Dummy," Tony waves his hand, "if he's bothering you, just tell him to go away. He won't be too hurt." 

"Nah, he's fine," Steve says, and then puts his hand in front of Dummy's for a moment and then _pets_ him. 

"Did you just let my robot sniff your hand so he knows you're not a threat?" Tony asks, eyebrow quirking. This cannot be happening to him. This isn't real. He doesn't even know if Dummy can smell. Oh, that'd be an interesting addition to his programming...

"Yeah, isn't that what you're supposed to do?" Steve asks, turning pink, and Tony shrugs. 

"I guess, but really, Dummy likes everyone, it's Butterfingers you have to watch out for." 

Another robot in the corner of the room squawks at the mention of his name, but Tony waves him off, too. "No, stay there, don't make me put you in rest mode." 

Steve, who's currently enthralled by how Dummy is spinning around for him, clicking and moving, laughs loudly. 

"He's dancing for you." He can't believe this. What has his life turned into? "Dummy never dances for _me._ I'm hurt," Tony says in a mock-pout, and Steve looks back at him. 

"This is great, Tony, thanks for showing me this." And Tony lets the pout slide off his face as he tries to ignore the warm feeling in his chest.


	4. What Did I Know

Bruce's tacos are delicious. 

Okay, that sounds a little dirty, but Tony means it. As someone who can't cook worth a damn, he is constantly surprised by how well and how quickly Bruce or Pepper manages to make not only edible but very tasty food. 

"Bruce, why have you never made these before?" Tony asks, pieces of taco shell flying out of his mouth. He can feel Steve's disapproval on the back of his neck, but he really can't be bothered. It's his house, he'll eat and act how he wants. 

"I have, you're just always in your workshop," Bruce answers wryly, sounding a little bitter. 

"Honeybear, don't be like that. You're gone for weeks at a time!" Tony takes another huge bite of his taco, groans at the flood of taste into his mouth. Seriously, all that time in South America and Mexico really worked in Bruce's favor. 

Bruce ignores him, turns to Steve. "So, Steve," he smiles, a fake one, Tony can tell, and he's suddenly glad that he's not the only one harboring bitter feelings. There's a reason he a Bruce get along so well. "What have you been up to? It's been awhile since we've heard from you." Tony smirks at the edge in his voice. 

"Traveling," Steve answers, a tense smile of his own. "Lots of traveling. I realized the only parts of America I really saw were New York and DC." 

"That's not true, you traveled around selling war bonds," Tony says before he can stop himself. Stupid, that was a stupid thing to do, Stark, come on. "At least, that's what my dad always told me." Not that Tony had seen all of the footage, nope, not at all. 

"I only ever stayed in a hotel for a night or two. Never got to see much. Your father told you about me?" Steve says, eyebrows perking up. 

"Uh, yeah, you're Captain America. You're pretty much his biggest claim to fame. When you went down he sent out tons of search parties. Even went out himself. That's how he found the tesseract. Seriously, did anyone even read that packet Fury gave us?" 

"Howard looked for me?" Steve asks, that pinched look coming back between his eyes. 

"Yep," Tony says, hating the way Howard's name comes so easily out of Steve's mouth. "Until he found you. It was one of our expeditions that found you up in the Arctic. Fury never told you?" 

Steve is silent for a moment, jaw working, tense. "No, he didn't," he says finally, and Tony catches Bruce's gaze for a moment before looking back to him. 

"I think uh- I think I might have some old films, you know, of you. From then," Tony says awkwardly. "If you want to see them." He really doesn't want to spend the rest of his night watching old Captain America films and seeing Steve get misty-eyed, but he can't think of anything better. He's trying, right? That has to count for something. 

Steve blinks a couple of times, looks up at Tony like he had in the workshop, like Tony just keeps getting better and better. Tony doesn't know whether to be insulted or feel warm all over again. 

"That'd be great, Tony, thanks," he says.

Which is how he, Bruce and Steve end up sprawled on the couch in the living room watching old film reels of Captain America movies. And performances. And Tony's pretty sure there's one of the actual procedure, but no one needs to see that, especially not Steve. He also makes sure that Jarvis doesn't play the ones with the Howling Commandos in it, because he knows Steve can't handle that. He wouldn't be able to, at least. 

"Jarvis, play the next one," he says, but Jarvis doesn't answer, instead the screen freezes and the lights come up.

"Security breach," Tony says, turning around to see who's just come in when Pepper steps out of the elevator. 

"Well this looks cozy," she says, setting her bag down. Tony looks back into the situation he's got himself into, with his feet in Bruce's lap and leaning heavily on Steve's shoulder. Whatever. She's caught him in much stranger situations.

"You know, it is, though I could do without the elbow in my lower back." Steve jabs him with it, and Tony squawks, moving off the couch. He gets up, walks over to Pepper. 

"I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow morning," he says, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her close. Not that he's complaining, because he loves Pepper, obviously, but he might have made an effort to shower or clean or save her some tacos. 

Her hands go to his chest, and she looks up at him, smiling despite herself. "I thought I'd surprise you." She leans up, kisses him softly on the mouth. 

"Well, color me surprised," he murmurs, kissing her again, and Bruce clears his throat loudly. "Right," Tony says, turning to face the two men-- he's delighted to find that Steve's face has flushed red, and he hopes it's from the blatant PDA-- but keeping an arm firmly around Pepper's waist. "Bruce came back, and uh, Pep, this is Captain Steve Rogers. Cap, this is Pepper, my girlfriend." 

Pepper smiles up at him and kisses his cheek before approaching Steve, who scrambles off the couch and offers his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," he says, and Pepper chuckles good-naturedly. 

"You don't have to call me 'ma'am', Captain Rogers. 'Pepper' is fine." Steve blushes again and nods. 

"Of course. You can call me Steve, if you'd like," he tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. Tony wonders if Pepper is particularly intimidating or if Steve really is just that bad with women. 

"Well, thank you Steve," she says, letting go of his hand and returning to Tony. "So what are you boys up to?" 

"Oh, you know, a trip down memory lane," Tony answers, motioning to the screen that's paused on Steve's grainy black and white face. Real Steve looks embarrassed, and Bruce yawns loudly. 

"I think I'm gonna head up to bed," he says, winking at Tony, "I've had a lot of traveling and cooking for ungrateful scientists today, I'm exhausted." He moves around the couch to give Pepper a half-hug and kiss on the cheek. 

"It's good to see you," he says to her, and she smiles at him. 

"You too. You'll have to tell me all about your travels tomorrow."

"Of course," he says, excusing himself to the stairs. 

Tony clears his throat. Well, this is awkward. What do you do when there's a super soldier standing in your living room and all you want to do is have sex with your girlfriend? He supposes he could start kissing Pepper again, but that would probably make _her_ mad, too, and that's the opposite of what he wants. 

"Well, I should go," Steve says, and Tony nearly sighs with relief. 

"Yeah, it's been nice having you," he says, ushering him to the elevator and pressing the button for him. "I'll call you sometime, alright?" 

Steve nods at him as the doors close, and Tony wonders if he's actually going to call him. It's not that he didn't enjoy his day with Steve and Bruce. It was just awkward, and awkward isn't something that Tony is used to. 

Not to mention that he lost almost a full day of work in his shop, and will have to make it up some other time. 

But Steve had seemed really lonely, and Tony knows how bad that can get. He's thankful to have Pepper and Bruce on the days he has them, and Rhodey, but he also knows that the bite of loneliness is enough to drive a man insane. (He builds robots specifically to talk to, for God's sake.)


	5. If It's True

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all my chapter titles come from songs, I don't know if you guys knew that, haha. also, I now have a BETA (the amazing sparklespiff, who volunteered) so updates may not come every day from now on. enjoy! 
> 
> A/N (9 May 2012): This chapter has been beta'd and reposted!

The thing about working for days on end in his lab is that Tony tends to lose a lot of time that he could be spending with Pepper or Bruce or Rhodey or anyone besides his robots. But he's so used to being alone, to not having friends that he never learned how to properly interact with anyone. It's alright when Pepper and Bruce are gone from the Tower, because then it's just like old times, and no one needs anything like affection from him and he's free to just, work.

Of course, that usually ends up in him passing out in his lab for four hours and waking up with indentations of whatever he was making on his forehead.

In any case, Tony figures he should start spending time with people, and maybe he'll be less inclined to pass out on large sheets of metal and the like. So, when he emerges from the depths of the Tower to be sociable after God-knows-how-long, he finds himself completely alone.

 _Gone to Istanbul,_ Bruce has scrawled on his message board. _Be back sometime. If world threatening emergency, you know how to call me._ (Tony knows it's bad that he considers pressing the alert button on the bracelet he'd give to every single Avenger before they parted ways. That's selfish of him, right? Right.)

And Tony knows that Pepper had to go to Malibu. She'd invited him, but the combination hookah and coffee maker he'd been building in the lab seemed much more important at the time. (It also makes Julienne fries, Tony knows it's going to be a huge asset to the kitchen hardware division.)

Tony sighs, deciding that he can't really do anything about his lack of company, so he flops down on the couch and tells Jarvis to turn on the television to whatever it was last playing. Steve's grainy black and white face comes up, and Tony blinks.

"Huh." He pauses. He could call Steve, and chances are he'd come over, but it would just be awkward again. They don't have much in common, as Tony is startlingly aware of, but he supposes they could still...be friends?

"Ah, screw it, Jarvis, call Captain Rogers."

"Certainly, sir."

The phone rings. And rings. And rings. And rings so long that Tony is just about to hang up before there's a click, and Steve's breathless voice answers.

"Tony?" Oh, crap. That has unexpected effects.

"Uh, Cap, Hi!" Tony's voice is too bright, too loud, and he winces at the sound of it but continues on. "I was just sitting around the Tower, you know, being lazy and working on things in my lab, you know, and Pepper and Bruce are gone, so I just thought that maybe you'd want to-- But if you don't that's fine, because I completely understand-- Pepper keeps telling me II can't just call people at weird times--"

"Tony, it's two in the afternoon," Steve interrupts him, sounding amused, and Tony smacks a hand to his forehead.

"Right. Well. Want to come over for lunch?"

"Sure. Hey, would you mind if I used your gym? I keep smashing the punching bags at HQ, Fury's starting to get mad--"

"HQ? SHIELD HQ? Why are you working out in HQ?" Tony asks suddenly, his brow furrowing.

"I live here? I had an apartment, but there was an issue with a man in my building and Fury said I was too vulnerable to live--"

"Vulnerable my ass, you're Captain America!" Has it really been that long since Tony has spoken to him? He flicks open a screen and catches the date. Oh, so it’s been almost a month since Steve’s visit. He lost more time in the workshop than he thought.

"--there alone. I don't mind it, it's alright so far, but the gym is really below par."

"Yeah, you can use my gym, I need a workout anyway," Tony tells him, still bewildered at the fact that _Fury took him out of an independent living situation to keep his eye on him._ Jesus, the man has no sympathy. What kind of issue could worry Fury that much? Tony makes a mental note to ask. "Just, come on over, Jarvis will tell me when you're here."

"Okay, I'll see you soon, Tony."


	6. I Guess Somebody Knows

“You got here a lot faster than last time,” Tony says, opening the door for Steve. It’s not like he’s been timing him, or anything-- it just seemed like a shorter period of time.

“Well, I knew my way better this time,” Steve says smiling sheepishly, “and no one stopped me to take photos.” Tony blinks at him, then laughs.

“That must be weird for you, huh? People are a lot braver than they used to be when it comes to celebrities, let me tell you.” Once, a woman had gotten into his hotel room, just for an autograph. Tony may have given her a little more than that, though. He doesn’t entirely remember; that was back when he was drunk for days on end.

“Yeah, I guess.” Steve shrugs at him, adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “Are we, uh-- ” he motions to the elevator. _Right_ Tony thinks, _can’t just leave him down here._

“Yeah, yeah-- come on, slowpoke.”

\---

“Come on, slowpoke, you can do better than that.” Steve flashes a grin at him, and Tony wants to whimper.

They’ve been sparring for about, oh-- Tony checks the clock on the wall-- twenty minutes now and Tony’s already been pinned eight times. He’s so sweaty that his arm slides against the mat as he tries to sit up, and he flops back down, all his breath leaving him at once.

“I give, I give, I don’t know whose idea sparring was, but it was horrible, I give up. Please, give me my suit back. I don’t want to live this way anymore,” Tony groans, and Steve chuckles as he offers him a hand.

“I’ve been wanting to try those punching bags out anyway,” Steve tells him, and Tony takes his hand, hauls himself up. 

“Please, go ahead, all the people in my testing division are too afraid.” They’d all looked away when he asked and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _killer toasters_ , but Tony has no idea what they’re talking about. Unless it’s the toaster debacle of 1998: then he has some idea, but again, he was probably drunk.

“Afraid?”

“Well, they’re prototypes. But it’s nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.” And Tony’s sure his workmanship has improved since the toaster debacle of 1998. Hopefully. Cap’s a super soldier, he’ll be fine.

Tony turns the bot on for him and watches as Cap fights it. “He’s programmed them to respond to the level at which the user fights,” Tony explains, not that he thinks Cap is really paying attention or actually cares. “So, how hard they hit, how fast they move, things like that, and the bot adjusts how much it fights back. They’re learning punching bags, basically,” he finishes and watches as it soon learns just how quickly it can move and punch back with Cap.

Tony wonders briefly if he should have programmed a personality into it, (like with Jarvis but meaner, of course) to see what happens when Steve gets mad and tries to fight something, but then the bag catches him in the jaw, and there’s a horrific sort of crunching sound, and he’s at Steve’s side, pulling gently on his wrist so he can see the damage.

“Jarvis, turn off the bot,” he snaps, and the bot sags over and moves back to its position along the wall.

“Let me see,” Tony says, gentler than before, and oh god, oh god jesus _fuck_ did his punching bag robot just break Captain America’s jaw? What if there’s an attack by aliens who can only be defeated by screaming at them or something? There could be aliens like that, it’s not like anyone really knows, and they would pick the one time Earth’s best superhero can’t speak because of Tony Stark, fuck-up extraordinaire.

Steve finally moves his hand, and Tony can see that his jaw is swelling pretty rapidly and starting to turn purple.

“Shit,” he whispers, “Fury’s gonna murder me.” Steve catches his gaze, shakes his head. (Because he can’t speak, because Tony’s untested bot just _broke his jaw_ , oh god damn it.) “Are you okay? Does it hurt? That’s a dumb question, of course it hurts. Do you want to go to the hospital? Or back to SHIELD or something? I mean, if you go back to SHIELD, obviously I can’t come with you, because hello-- lawsuit."

Steve shakes his head again, and makes a little writing-in-air motion. Paper and pencil. They’re in a gym; Tony doesn’t have paper and pencil! He goes over to a clear section of wall and taps on it, waiting for the screen to come up so he can pull up a keyboard.

“Here, here, type,” he says frantically, waving his hand at the keyboard.

It takes forever-- what with Steve taking the time to find each individual letter and pressing it carefully and then painstakingly deleting every extra letter he types (it happens a lot, he presses too hard and holds the buttons down too long and ends up with half a page of one letter, like something out of Kafka)-- Tony wants to yell that there are more important things than the state of his wall computer screen-- but eventually Steve moves out of the way and Tony can read what it says.

_Jaw will be healed by tomorrow. No need to go to the hospital. Will be able to speak again in a couple of hours._

“So this has happened before?” Tony asks, and Steve nods in response.

“Okay. Good. Well, not good, but, good that you’re going to be okay.”

They stand in silence for a moment before Tony breaks.

“That’s it, I’m taking you to Bruce’s lab,” he says, grabbing Steve’s arm-- whoa, that’s more muscle than he realized, even with all the pinning and sparring, Cap must really load up on the eggs in the morning-- and pulling him toward the elevator.


	7. Some Nights I Call It A Draw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, beta'd by the wonderful sparklespiff!!

Bruce’s lab, unlike his own, is neat and organized. It may be because he’s gone most of the time, or maybe he’s just a cleaner person than Tony-- either one makes sense, really-- but Tony’s thankful either way, because it means he doesn’t have to dig around for what he needs. 

“Ha!” He pulls a sheet off of a machine in the corner, a large scanner that lights up when he presses his fingers to two buttons that sit next to a sliding door. It opens with a soft _whoosh_. “Come on, big guy, time for an x-ray, come here.” Tony pulls a protective apron out of a drawer and lifts it gently over Steve’s head. 

“This thing has saved me more times than I can count,” Tony says quietly, mostly to himself, just so he doesn’t have to listen to the sound of Steve’s breathing in the otherwise quiet room. Quiet reminds him too much of an empty dorm room at MIT or an empty bedroom in the mansion. The day he discovered rock music was the same day his old man made a pair of specialty headphones for him. 

He fiddles with the apron and makes Steve stand in the right place. He sets the controls to only x-ray from the neck and upwards-- but oh, his hands are itching to just x-ray the whole body, learn more about Steve than SHIELD (or hacking SHIELD) would tell him, but he can’t do that, not without asking-- that much he knows. 

“Hold still,” he says, initiating the scanning sequence. “This might hurt.” He grins as Steve’s eyes widen in what seems like shock. “Just kidding, just kidding. It’ll only burn a little. Maybe. Probably not. You’re fine, see, look, it’s done already, you want a lollipop? Nevermind, that’s a bad joke and an even worse idea. Maybe later. Do you even eat candy?” Steve seems like someone who takes very good care of his teeth. 

Tony removes the apron from Steve as the images of his neck and head pop up on the screen. His jaw already looks less swollen in person, but Tony gets him a bag of ice anyway and presses it against the purple area.

Steve hisses, and Tony murmurs, “I know, I know.” He understands the sting of ice against a new injury along with the ache that comes later, and he doesn’t really know how to comfort people, but it seems like the right thing to say. (If he keeps this up, Steve might start to think that Tony cares, or something. Really he just wants to avoid Fury yelling at him; the eye patch throws Tony off every time.)

Steve looks down at him, catches his gaze, and puts his hand over Tony’s, squeezes it and holds it there. Tony blinks at him, opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, floundering for something to say, but comes up empty. 

A long moment passes and Tony tries to look anywhere except at Steve’s face, but it doesn’t entirely work. He feels trapped with his hand there, nearly engulfed in Steve’s larger hand, and it’s maybe starting to go numb from the lack of movement. Tony has no idea what Steve’s agenda is in this. All he knows is he can feel Steve’s steady heartbeat against his hand and he belatedly realizes that Steve might be able to feel his sad pulse under the stronger one the reactor provides. 

 

Jarvis’ announcement that the scans are completely rendered makes Tony jump, pressing the ice harder against Steve’s jaw, making him hiss again and pull away. 

“Ah! Sorry, sorry, Jesus, Jarvis, try not to be so loud next time,” Tony snaps, his hand tingling from where Steve’s had rested on top of it. 

“I will do my best, sir,” Jarvis replies, and Steve’s head whips toward the ceiling. Right, Jarvis has never actually spoken while Steve’s been around. 

“Don’t worry, he’s just a voice. Most people freak out. He won’t hurt you, not like the punching bags, at least. All Jarvis can do is hurt you emotionally,” Tony says, moving away to examine the images, letting out a low whistle. Jarvis does not reply. He’s probably embarrassed, and serves him right, Tony thinks smugly. 

“Well, it’s broken,” he says, and Steve hums a sarcastic, affirmative noise. Can a noise be sarcastic? Tony figures if anyone could make one, Steve could. The man can do anything. “But it seems to be healing already. Look, come here--” he waves Steve over, showing him the progression of images. “It’s starting to heal, can you see that? This is the first image, and this is the last, do you see the difference?” 

Steve nods at him, eyes passing over the scans, wide with wonder. A thought comes to Tony, and he lets out a huff of air.

“You’ve never been shown any of your medical records, have you?” Tony asks, eyes narrowing as Steve shakes his head. “That’s bullshit. But you know what the serum did? You’ve just never had the full medical explanation?”

Again, Steve shakes his head, and then shrugs. Tony scoffs, unable to believe that this man, this _superhero_ , doesn’t even fully understand his own body. That’s a lack of control that Tony cannot fathom. There are too many independent variables in life; he can’t afford to let his suit be one of them. 

“I’ll hack into SHIELD’s database and have Bruce explain it all to you when he gets back. And maybe we’ll run some tests of our own.” Tony waves a hand at him and shuts down the machine. “Jarvis, store images on my private server, in the good Captain’s file.” 

“Certainly, sir, will you be needing anything else?” 

“No, no, that’s it. We’ll be down in the lab soon,” Tony says, avoiding the question on Steve’s face that he knows is asking why he has a file about him on his personal server. Or maybe it’s to ask what a personal server is. Either way, Tony is glad that Steve can’t speak for the moment. 

\---

“You want a book or something?” Tony asks Steve as they pass through the common area on the way to the elevator. (Tony hates taking the stairs all the way down to his shop. It’s so tedious.) 

Steve nods, makes a noise that Tony can’t decipher-- maybe he can install a program in Jarvis, he can already translate ten languages as they’re spoken aloud, what’s another one, even if it’s not actually a language?-- and he stops by the bookshelf to look for something that isn’t about engineering. His gaze falls on a worn copy of _The Fellowship of the Ring,_ and it’s not the first edition his mother ever bought him (that one is probably still in his room in the mansion-- Tony really should clean that place out), but one he got himself after college. 

“Have you ever read this?” he asks, pulling it off the shelf. Steve shakes his head and Tony shoves the book into his hands. He knows Steve should really start with _The Hobbit_ , but maybe he’s already read it. When was it even published? 

“Jarvis, when was _The Hobbit_ published?” he asks, and Steve nods frantically, as if to say, _yes yes, I’ve read that book, I like it,_ or _no, no I know when it was published,_ or maybe even, _right, awesome, good question, I was thinking the exact same thing_ and Tony really needs to get that program installed so he doesn’t have to guess what Steve’s trying to say. 

“1937, sir,” Jarvis says, and Tony nods. 

“Well, I think you’ll like that one, Cap,” he says, but when he turns, Steve’s already got the book open, reading it. Tony chuckles. “Come on, big guy, let’s go somewhere I can make sure you don’t get a paper cut or something.” He feels a stab of sympathy for Coulson and all the babysitting he had to do, and then a stab of something much deeper in his chest when he realizes that Coulson-- well. 

It must show on his face, because the next thing he feels is Steve’s hand pressing on his shoulder and he looks up to meet Steve peering at him, concerned for Tony’s sanity or something. He doesn’t know when Steve suddenly became okay with invading his personal space, but he’s not sure he likes it. 

Tony shrugs him off, forces a smile and walks toward the elevator, knowing Steve will follow.


	8. I Guess It's All Alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh, sorry for the gap between posts, my term is ending and I'm doing a sort of mad dash to pack and get ready to go home. I'll be flying home tomorrow, so the next part won't be done until friday at the earliest. as always, beta'd by the awesome sparklespiff. thanks for reading!

The time in the workshop passes without much incident, with the exception of Dummy spending a ridiculous amount of time trying to get things for Steve, who can’t even tell him to stop. Steve has to tap on Tony’s shoulder and point frantically at Dummy (who’s holding a blowtorch--how did he even get that?) to get him to notice. Other than that, Steve reads his book and Tony works on things, sometimes swearing at a mistake, or an accidental burn or just for the hell of it. He doesn’t put the music on as a courtesy to Steve, but he finds that the quiet doesn’t really bother him much, not when he knows Steve is there too. 

Tony isn’t sure how much time passes before he feels Steve’s hand on his shoulder again, and he straightens quickly, pushing his goggles up to his hair. Steve waves the book at him, then pats his stomach, which, right on cue, growls loudly. 

“Right. Super soldier. You have to consume insane amounts of calories. Right. Okay.” He takes his goggles off and puts his tools-- well, the ones that could burn his lab down, at least-- away, standing. He stretches, sighing with relief when his joints crack and pop. Steve looks at him, concerned, but Tony waves him off. 

“It’s what happens when you’re old. You finish the book?” Steve nods. “You like it?” Steve nods again, faster this time, and Tony chuckles. “I thought you might. I have the other two. You can read them. Then we can watch the movies.” He pauses, thinks about what he just presumed about Steve and their friendship. He definitely just implied that they’re going to hang out again, which, yeah, okay, they probably are anyway. 

“Uh, if that’s cool with you, I mean. We don’t have to. If you hate me because my robot broke your jaw, I’ll understand,” he says, in what he hopes is a joking tone. 

“Tony,” Steve replies, and it sounds painful-- because it probably _is_ \-- there’s no way, even with the serum, that his jaw could be healed by now. Steve’s not really paying attention to him, though, he seems to be staring at something else. Tony hopes it’s not Loki. 

“Ah, ah, just kidding, it’s okay, don’t say anything. Don’t damage your jaw more, it’ll just be a bitch to fix--” 

Steve puts his hands on Tony’s shoulders, and turns him around to face the doorway of the workshop, where Pepper currently stands, hands on her hips. 

“Pepper!” She isn’t supposed to be back for another week, at least, and this is the kind of surprise that Tony loves. She’s scowling, though, and that’s a face he hasn’t seen in a while. Not since she went to Malibu, at least, and they had the fight about Bruce being safe in all those dangerous countries and the well-being of Jarvis-- a _computer_ , for fuck’s sake. Tony still doesn’t know how that fight even started.

She punches in her code and comes into the shop, the sound of her heels clicking on the floor growing louder and louder as she approaches. Tony is still amazed at how intimidating she can be, even after ten years. 

“Tony,” she says, her voice low, and Tony blinks. He must be in some kind of trouble. 

“Yeeeeeees?” he answers, unsure, hoping if he drags the word out long enough, she’ll forget why she’s mad.

“Why do I have Nick Fury calling me, asking whether or not we took Captain America from SHIELD HQ without permission? And whether or not we know that’s a threat to the security of the _Nation_ , so if we have him, we better give him back right now?” 

Tony blinks again, rapidly, and sputters. “I don’t know? I mean, Cap is here, obviously, you see that, but I just invited him. I _invited_ him, Pepper, I don’t take people without making sure it’s okay with them first. I’m all about freedom! Freedom’s my thing, you know that!” She gives him a Look, arches a perfect eyebrow and he shrinks a little. 

“Come on, I promise I just invited him. I didn’t even know he needed permission to leave--” Not that Tony would have asked Fury’s permission for Steve to come to his own teammate’s home, because uh-- Steve’s an adult. He can make his own choices. “--and I figured if he did, he would ask for it.” 

Steve makes a weird noise behind them, and Tony turns to see him looking rather embarrassed. 

“Oh my god, you didn’t ask permission,” Tony says, eyes widening. “You’re a rebel, Cap! I can’t believe it!” He laughs, delighted, while Pepper looks even more murderous and Steve turns red. 

Steve shrugs, and Tony thinks he probably means, _I didn’t know it would be a big deal._ They’re getting pretty good at the whole non-verbal communication thing. Tony laughs again, claps a hand to Steve’s arm. Pepper’s jaw ticks, but Tony doesn’t notice because he’s much too busy having a conversation with Steve in which neither of them speaks. Pepper clears her throat, and Tony jumps. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll call Fury and tell him there was just a misunderstanding. And Pepper, I’m sorry, but at least you’re back now, and we can all have dinner like the adults we are, free to make our own--”

“It’s one in the morning,” Pepper cuts in, _still_ angry, and Tony stops. Why is she still angry? Is she made that he’s been working too much again? Oh. They got to the workshop around four, so it’s been almost nine hours. No wonder Steve finished a four-hundred-page book and is hungry. He’s probably ravenous, really, and just being nice about it. 

“Well, taking that into consideration, I should probably feed the good Captain here, shouldn’t I?” he says, making sure his tone sounds appropriately serious. He can feel Steve tense up behind him and he sighs. This isn’t how he wanted anything to go. Why can’t he ever do anything right? 

“Come on, Cap, we’ll go find something to eat. You want breakfast or do you want dinner?” he says, putting a hand to Steve’s back and ushering him out, leaving Pepper in the workshop, still fuming. He’ll deal with that later. 

\---

Tony ends up having to order some pizzas for dinner, because his foray into omelet making, as always, ends in catastrophe. He’s not really sure how he always manages to only burn half the omelet, but he figures it’s a talent. If he needed a resume, he’d put it on there under the special skills section.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind too much, though, and eats his sausage and pepperoni without much fuss. He seems to be chewing just fine, and doesn’t look like he’s in any pain, and wow, Tony would give a lot of money to be able to heal that quickly. 

Tony finds some ice cream in the freezer and offers it to Steve for dessert, who nods quickly. “You want a milkshake?” Tony asks, because he can blend things-- he knows that much. Or he can at least make Jarvis blend them without too much fuss. Steve nods again, and Tony goes to work. 

Just as he’s finishing up the blending, he sees Pepper walk through the common area, toward the stairs. He quickly pours Steve a glass and the rest into another, setting Steve’s down in front of him on the table. 

“Be right back, don’t get yourself into trouble, there are books on the bookshelf, obviously, just uh-- help yourself,” he says in a rush, ignoring the quirk of Steve’s eyebrow at him. Tony grabs the other milkshake and half-runs up the stairs after Pepper, into her-- their bedroom. 

She’s sitting on the bed when he gets there, face in her hands. He can tell she’s really upset, but it can’t possibly be about Steve, can it? Who could have a problem with Steve? Well, okay, he could, obviously, and did, but the guy’s lonely and not all that bad once you get to know him kind of-- or once you break his jaw and he can’t speak-- and he’s a national icon. A superhero and a regular hero. He probably helps little old ladies cross the street; who could be mad about that? 

“Hey,” Tony says quietly, leaning against the doorframe. Pepper lifts her head, looking more exhausted than he’s ever seen her look. It’s a little shocking, actually, and Tony doesn’t know what to do. “I, uh-- Do you want a milkshake? It’s chocolate, no strawberries, I promise.” He smiles weakly at her, but it falters when she sighs, shaking her head. 

“Tony, we need to talk,” she says instead, and Tony goes cold all over. 

“About what?” he asks, staying at the door, in case he needs to escape. 

“This isn’t working.” What? What’s not working? Mayday, _mayday,_ something’s wrong, Tony thought everything was going fine, why, suddenly, is it not? He must have done something to fuck it up, like always. 

“What?” His voice is hoarse, throat tight. His heart feels funny, and he’d think he was having a heart attack were he anyone else. “What’s not working, Pep? You running the company? That’s not true at all, you’re doing a great job, so much better than I could ever do, you have to know that--” 

“That’s not what I mean, Tony, and you know it,” she replies over him. “The company’s fine, but you’re-- I can’t--do this. Anymore.” She looks like it hurts to say it, and _good,_ Tony thinks to himself. He feels like his chest has been torn open by her perfectly manicured fingernails, and he’s not one for self-sacrifice in the name of love. 

“We’re both so busy all the time, and I never get to see you. Before it was always just you and me, and then the Avengers happened, and you-- You know I love Bruce, and Steve seems very kind, and I’m sure I’d love him as well, but it’s never just you and me anymore, Tony. It’s you and me and always someone else. I miss you, just you, and I can’t ask you to give up what makes you happy.” 

“ _You_ make me happy, Pepper,” he says, pleading, but she shakes her head. 

“Not as happy as the Avengers does. And that’s okay. I’m not-- I’ll still be in your life, Tony, and I’ll still make you sign forms and bug you about having a better public image, but please. I think it will just be easier this way.” 

“No,” he says, and somewhere in his mind it registers that he sounds petulant, but this isn’t fair. It isn’t right. He’s happy with Pepper, much happier than he’s ever been, and maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he never thinks about her. “You want some alone time together? We’ll do that, okay, I promise. We’ll take a vacation, just the two of us. Where do you want to go? Venice? Florida? Please not Florida, actually, it smells weird, but anywhere else.” At some point he’s moved from the doorway to right in front of her, kneeling. He sets the milkshake down and grabs her hands, makes her look at him. 

“Listen to me, I get it. You’re right, okay? I’m listening, I promise. I love you, Pepper. We can go anywhere. Even Ohio, and you know how much I hate Ohio.” 

Pepper chuckles quietly, like she does when she really doesn’t want to but can’t help it because it’s Tony who’s making her laugh. She pulls her hands from his and cups his face, slides her fingers into his hair. 

“All right,” she says, leaning down to kiss him. 

“All right?” Tony echoes, and she nods, kissing him again. 

“Yes. And let’s go to Fiji.” 

Tony grins and leans up to kiss her. 

\---

By the time Tony gets downstairs, Steve’s nearly worn a hole in the floor from pacing around the kitchen like he’s really worried about something. 

“You doing okay, Cap?” Tony asks, and Steve’s found paper and a pen somewhere, and scrawled out: 

_Did something happen? Pepper seemed upset._

He shoves it at Tony, who reads it and lets out a nervous, involuntary laugh, and nods. 

“Yeah, yeah, we just had some things to talk about. She’s fine. We’re fine. How’s that jaw?” he asks, grabbing another piece of pizza. Steve taps his cheek, gives him a thumbs up, which Tony assumes means that his jaw doesn’t hurt. That’s something, at least. 

“Good. We’ll x-ray it in the morning to see how it is. I’m guessing you don’t have permission to stay the night, but who gives a fuck what Fury wants, right?” Tony grins at him, but Steve just frowns. 

“Hey, I’m not the one who went MIA, Captain,” he says, pointing a finger at Steve, who waves him off. “Anyway, just go up the stairs two flights and down that hallway. You can have any room that’s unlocked. They all have bathrooms, so don’t worry about that. I’ll see you tomorrow, Cap.” 

He gives Steve a little wave before going up the stairs and back into his own bedroom where Pepper’s already fast asleep.


	9. But There's Nothing Left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as alwayyys, beta-d by the wonderful sparklespiff, who, seriously you guys, these chapters are a mess before she gets to them! my life is calming down a bit, so perhaps there are more regular updates in the future, but who knows. enjoy!

Pepper takes a week and a half off of work the next month, Tony gets Steve to look after the Tower-- because Bruce still isn’t back, and Tony doesn’t want him coming back to an empty home-- with permission from Fury and explicit instructions that he is to have No Outside Guests. Which basically equates to anyone who could steal Tony’s secrets. Which is anyone. (He’s not a very trusting person, obviously.) 

Steve just tells him not to worry, that he’ll take good care of Jarvis and Dummy and Butterfingers, and sends Tony and Pepper on their way, smiling. 

\---

Tony isn’t sure if it’s the fight about the towels being sandy or the way she keeps answering her cell phone while they’re eating, while they’re dozing on the balcony, while they’re about to have sex on the beach-- not the cocktail, but Tony would prefer that to sand everywhere and a case of blue balls-- or if it’s just the fact that they’re different people now. He’s a different person and she wasn’t there for the transformation, or something. 

All he knows for sure is they break up, and Tony feels like it’s probably been a long time coming, and for someone whose mind is so used to picking up patterns, he doesn’t understand how he didn’t see it. He can skim through thousands of lines of code in minutes, and pick out errors that would ruin his whole mainframe, but somehow he missed the fact that Pepper was unhappy. 

He can almost hear her tutting at him, her sigh and mumbled _People aren’t computers, Tony._

_That,_ he thinks, pouring himself a glass of scotch on the plane back from Fiji, _is the whole problem._  
\---

“Tony.” Steve’s voice is barely audible above Tony’s music. Tony turns down the volume on the screen next to him and doesn’t turn around. Steve clears his throat, presumably gearing himself up for some sort of pep talk, but Tony doesn’t want to hear it. He wishes he hadn’t turned down the music, but he figures he can’t renege on his invitation to speak now. 

“Tony, you’ve been down here for three days,” he says, and Tony grunts in response. All right, that was unexpected. And it sounds less rehearsed than he was expecting. (Part of him feels bad, because he knows this isn’t fair; he should be dealing with this alone. Steve shouldn’t be here to see him like this. They’re barely friends.)

“Been down here for longer before,” he says, missing the wire he’s meant to solder and getting the tip of his finger instead. He hisses sharply and Steve sighs behind him. 

“Will you come upstairs and eat something? You just have to eat a sandwich. I won’t even talk to you, if that’s what you want. Please?” 

Tony’s about to say he’s not hungry, but his stomach growls before he has the opportunity. He doesn’t want to eat-- his appetite is long since gone-- but he does feel a little weak, and would like to have the energy to finish this prototype. 

“Just one sandwich,” he says, standing, and if when he sways on his feet, Steve catches his arm to steady him, well, he doesn’t even want to think about it. 

\---

The sandwich is good, fresh and with just the right amount of mustard and nothing weird on it. (Once, someone made him a sandwich with olives _and_ onions on it. Gross.) Tony eats it slowly, taking the time to chew each bite fully before swallowing and it is so uncharacteristically him that he would run tests on himself, if he cared enough.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve asks him, and Tony snorts. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, and he knows that’s not entirely true. He’d come back from Fiji with a tan and a raging temper. He hadn’t spoken to Steve-- who was sitting in the kitchen, his feet up on the table, eating cereal and reading the paper when Tony stormed through-- except to say that he was welcome to stay as long as he liked but that Tony wouldn’t be good company. Tony hadn’t elaborated; he’d just gone down into the workshop to build. 

“I don’t think that’s true, but if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.” Steve pokes at a salad with his fork, and Tony realizes he hasn’t showered since he was in Fiji. Huh. _Bet I smell like a dream,_ he thinks, taking another big bite of his sandwich so he doesn’t have to speak. 

\---

Tony takes a shower when he realizes that he has a dirt cloud that follows him wherever he goes, like Pigpen from Charlie Brown. The water-- so hot it turns his skin red-- makes him feel a little better, lighter somehow, but when he gets out and grabs the towel Pepper always used by accident, his chest seizes up, and he can’t breathe. 

And Christ, how fucking ridiculous is it that here’s Tony Stark, one of the brightest minds of his time, reduced to cliches because of a _towel_? He’s literally put himself back together in a cave with a box of scraps, come to personify the Phoenix metaphor better than anyone else (and isn’t _that_ a line he loves to use to make himself feel better), rediscovered and synthesized an element and saved the world multiple times. The fact that a whiff of Pepper’s body wash can reduce him to the whole ‘without you I can’t breathe’ schtick? Well, that’s pathetic. 

This is the third time something like this has happened to him. The first was a handwritten note stuffed into one of his drawers, kindly reminding him not to miss the next board meeting. The second was a pair of her earrings tucked into the inside pocket of one of his jackets, so she could lean her head on his shoulder as they drove back to the Tower after work or a charity ball or the fancy dinners where they’d cause a scene in the restaurant on purpose. (Tony had always caused the scene on purpose, at least, and Pepper must have known it wasn’t worth the trouble to try to stop him.) 

He’d never noticed how she’d wormed her way so completely into his life, spread herself too thin to fill in all his holes. There are too many pieces of her still associated with him, still with him, for it to be a clean break, and that’s the worst part. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, grabs his own towel and wraps it around his hips, leaving Pepper’s in a heap on the floor. 

\---

Bruce comes back on a Tuesday, looking tan and ragged and hungry. Tony’s never been more thankful in his life. 

He pours Bruce a large drink, slides it across the kitchen counter and waits until he’s had half of it before breaking the news. 

“Pepper’s gone,” he says, and he swears his voice doesn’t crack like he’s still a pre-pubescent kid when he says her name. He’s an adult, and that would be entirely too embarrassing for him to handle. 

“Why?” Bruce says, glass paused halfway to his mouth. He looks-- he looks _frightened_ , for some reason, like he’s afraid of what Tony might say. Tony realizes that Bruce probably thinks Pepper leaving is his fault, but Tony won’t let him think that, because it’s not the truth. It’s not Bruce’s fault; it’s Tony’s fault. Always has been, always will be. 

“Why else? I’m unfit for a relationship. We’re too busy, my life is too dangerous, the honeymoon phase is over and she realized that she could never love someone like me.” He realizes he’s waving his hands in a frighteningly emphatic way, but whatever, it’s Bruce. He doesn’t care. None of what he’s said is really straight from Pepper’s mouth, but Tony’s smart, been smart all his life; he knows how to read between the lines. 

“You don’t believe any of those things, right?” Bruce asks, brows furrowed, and Tony forces out a laugh, ripe with bitterness. 

“Of course not, just thought you’d want to know that she won’t be around much anymore,” Tony says-- lies through his teeth-- and pushes off the counter, shrugging. 

“Also, Cap lives here now, the floor above yours,” Tony says, tapping the counter twice before turning around, leaving the kitchen for good. 

\---

Bruce leaves again after a week-- another note, another scrawled apology-- and Tony ignores the betrayal that flares in his chest. 

He doesn’t _need_ Bruce around. He has Steve, technically, and his robots, and it’s not like he’s going to actually do anything except be passive aggressive about the only healthy relationship he’s ever had crashing and burning. But still, it would have been nice to have him there for solidarity. 

Or something. 

But that’s not what Tony gets, because even though Bruce has had his share of hard times, his specialty will always be leaving and Tony’s will always be being the one left behind. 

\---

By the time Labor Day-- what? it’s an important holiday-- comes around, Tony’s been Pepper-less for a month, has gained a new housemate (Towermate?) in Steve, and has forgotten to sleep more times than he can count. He remembers to shower-- the water always on the other side of too hot, scalding his skin as if he can be purified, his sins washed away-- for Steve’s benefit. He doesn’t want to smell like a horrible mess just because the universe and Pepper got together and decided to fuck him over. (And not even in the good way.) 

He still spends most of his time in his lab, the hum of the circuit board beneath his fingertips distracting him from thoughts of Fiji or of his failed relationship in general. Sometimes, Steve comes down and sits with him, either reading on the couch or watching someone on television. Other times he talks to Tony about things, about how and where he grew up or the people he knew and loved and still mourns. 

Mostly, Tony listens and pretends he doesn’t. It’s not like he’d know what to say anyway. 

Because here’s the thing: Tony knows that Steve’s trying to commiserate with him, trying to console him in some way, but Tony doesn’t want it. He wants to be selfish and unkind. He wants to sit in his pit of misery and smell bad and yell at his robots until he feels better.

But here’s the other thing: when Steve looks at him, it’s not full of pity like it should be, like it has been all his life. It’s full of understanding, sympathy, and the thought that someone else even remotely knows what he’s going through and wants to share it with him, well, it makes Tony’s mouth go dry. 

He wants to be a better person around Steve, and he doesn’t know if that’s from years of his childhood spent under the metaphorical gaze and influence of Captain America (mostly because his dad kept all the memorabilia locked away in a closet in his office so Tony’s little grubby hands couldn’t soil it, but oh, he’s heard enough stories to last a lifetime, though Steve doesn’t need to know any of that), or if it’s some new, shocking development that comes with being Steve’s friend. 

He finds it’s easier if he doesn’t think about it much.


	10. It Isn't Hard To Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> museums!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha, just kidding about regular updates. sorry! but, here is the latest, beta'd, as always, by the wonderful sparklespiff. (any remaining mistakes are mine, promise.)

“So, are you ever going to tell me about that apartment drama?” Tony asks Steve on a Tuesday afternoon while they’re in the shop. Steve’s been telling him some story from the war, one that Tony knows because his father used to tell it all the time, and the last thing Tony wants to hear is a story that involves his father. 

Steve blinks, shocked, like he’s just now realizing that Tony’s been listening. Maybe Tony should feel bad about that, like he should make more of an effort to be an active listener, but he figures you can’t change a leopard’s spots. Or something. 

“There’s not much to tell.” Steve shrugs, and Tony’s not buying it. 

“Ah, ah, ah, nope, you have to tell me. I’ll give you any story in return, if you want, if I feel like it. Now come on. Out with it, or I’ll kick you out of my Tower.” Tony points the soldering iron at him and raises an eyebrow. Steve sighs and rubs his hands on his jeans.

“Okay, well. This man, who lived down the hall from me, he kind of... figured out I was Captain America. Not that it was much of a secret. But he figured it out and started following me, I guess? I’m not really sure, but he didn’t know that SHIELD already had a tail on me, and they got to him before he could do anything, and Fury revoked my clearance for independent living.” 

Tony goes silent, watching Steve as he speaks and trying to ignore the tell-tale flex of Steve’s hands that means he’s nervous.

“He wanted to kidnap you?” Tony asks, foregoing the bullshit of a long, meaningful conversation. He could have a conversation about it-- about the waterboarding and the sand and how cold the cave was and _Yinsen_ \-- but there’s really no need to freak Steve out more, and about Tony, no less. 

“That’s what they tell me.” Steve’s shoulders sag, and he puts a hand to his forehead, sighing. “I’m sorry, Tony. You don’t care about this. I’ll just--”

“Hey,” Tony says, and somehow he’s managed to get to his feet and over to Steve, has his hands on Steve’s shoulders before he can really think about the action. Maybe he needs more coffee, because Steve’s shoulders are warm and firm and feel good under his hands and this definitely isn’t the type of thing he’d do if he were all the way awake. “Don’t ever apologize. This is our life now. These are our lives. Shit happens. And I know I’m not--” He pauses, slowly takes his hands off of Steve, clears his throat. “And don’t tell me what I don’t care about. I’m much too enigmatic for you to have me all figured out.” 

Tony grins at him in what he hopes is a joking way, and Steve smiles back.

“Thanks, Tony.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Tony waves him off and moves back to his table, picking up his soldering iron to complete his work. Maybe after he’s done he can sleep, and forget the feel of Steve’s shoulders under his hands. 

\---

“You never told me a story,” Steve says, almost two days later, sprawled across the couch, watching a terrible Jim Carrey movie. Tony’s always had too short of an attention span to watch movies all the way through, so he’s working. And this one is particularly bad. It’s something about pets and tacky hawaiian shirts and talking out of butts. And, okay, the butt-talking parts are funny, but he doesn’t really understand the rest of it. 

Tony looks away from his tablet to Steve, who’s hanging with his head off his seat and his long legs curled over the back of the couch, watching the movie upside down. He’s been inside for almost a week, hasn’t even gone for a run outside-- which Tony thinks is super weird, because usually he passes him on his way up the stairs to his own room at six am to sleep until noon and Steve’s on his way out-- and it’s starting to show. Tony wonders briefly if it’s been rainy or something and makes a mental note to ask Jarvis what he thinks. 

“All the blood’s gonna rush to your head if you do that. You’ll get dizzy, or a headache,” Tony says, uninterested in Steve’s previous statement. Steve pouts, turns over and crawls up to the arm of the couch, draping his upper half over it. He must be bored. Steve can’t handle being bored, Tony’s noticed. He gets all full of energy, like he’s charged up with it, and can’t control himself. He usually ends up breaking something. (He’s broken three tablets this week alone.) Tony mostly just ignores it-- though the tablet thing was pretty annoying, even if Tony does have a basically endless supply of them-- because he figures Steve will get over it eventually. Hopefully.

“You didn’t tell me a story.” And yep, Steve’s definitely whining. Tony sighs, puts his tablet to the side and looks at him. 

“What do you want to know?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Anything,” Steve says, smiling and shrugging. “Your first--” He pauses, flushes faintly, though it might just be the light in the room. “Your first kiss?” 

Tony snorts. Why does Steve care about a stupid story like that? He hasn’t thought about it in years-- decades, probably-- so why would it matter to Steve? 

“Uh, well, let’s see.” Tony thinks for a moment, actually _thinks_ because his first kiss was a long time ago, and he’s a little hazy on the details. “Right. So, I was fourteen, and it was the August before I left for MIT. There was a girl, one of the daughters of one of my dad’s friends or something. I think her dad might have worked for my dad. I have no idea. She was hot and she was my age, and she-- well, I was a skinny kid with a smart mouth and she probably had some jock boyfriend.” He pauses, chuckling. “I ended up kissing her at one of my dad’s parties and she ended up pushing me in the pool.” 

Tony shrugs, scratches the back of his head. “Could have been worse.” 

Steve looks at him, furrows his brow, and Tony looks back at his tablet, hands itching to grab it. He hates when Steve looks at him like he’s trying to figure him out. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, and Tony laughs. 

“Why? There’s absolutely nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t make her push me into the pool, and you didn’t make me kiss her. I’ve kissed hundreds of women since her. It really doesn’t matter.” He stands and stretches, popping his back. “I think it’s bedtime for me. Do you want to do something tomorrow? Go somewhere?” 

Steve glances up at him, like he can’t believe Tony would offer. God, he’s got to work on being a better person. 

“What?” Tony says. “You seem bored, I’m just trying to be nice.” 

“No, but-- Don’t you have to work?” 

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m getting a little stir crazy myself. You think about where you want to go, and tell me when I wake up,” Tony says, absently patting Steve’s head as he walks by the couch. 

\---

Steve decides he wants to go to sight-seeing, like a tourist or something, and Tony can’t help but be politely offended at a decision that means he has to walk all over the city for the whole day. He’s Tony Stark-- he doesn’t _walk_ places. That’s why he has Happy. And he knows Steve’s going to want to go _everywhere_ and see everything that’s changed-- if he hasn’t already-- and Tony feels like too much of a futurist for that. 

Maybe Tony can distract Steve by buying things. 

In any case, Tony puts on his outside-the-tower-but-still-might-get-photographed-casual clothes-- or, his most casual ones without motor oil stains and holes-- and a pair of aviators, hands Steve a baseball cap, and ushers them out the door. 

And if he has the bracelets on to call the Mark VII to him, well, it’s always good to be prepared for the worst.

(At the end of the day, the bracelets don’t matter, because no catastrophes happen. Unless you count Tony losing both of his hot dogs to Steve’s puppy eyes and super soldier metabolism. But that isn’t a real catastrophe, because Tony, thankfully, has the means to buy more hot dogs.) 

\---

They end up foregoing the Statue of Liberty because it’s closed for renovations, and Tony hates the ferry. Besides, even though it’s nearing the end of September, it’s still too hot to really walk around an island and get bombarded by people wanting autographs. 

Tony takes him to Central Park, instead, and they get ice cream and sit on the big rocks, overlooking everything. Tony pretends he doesn’t see everyone taking photos. 

“You ever been to the Met?” Tony asks him, taking a big bite of his cone. 

“Not since 1941,” Steve says, laughing, handing Tony a napkin for the ice cream running down his chin. Tony takes it without thanking him and wipes at his face. 

“Well, you like art, right? Let’s go there.” He stands, offers a hand to Steve and hauls him up-- though, really, Steve does most of the work. 

\---

The museum, while quiet-- in that unsettling way that all museums and libraries and bookstores are quiet-- isn’t exactly empty. Tony knows it’s a huge tourist attraction, but he figures people will be less likely to annoy you while you’re looking at art.

They’re in the Egyptian section, because Steve’s never seen it in all its glory, and it’s always been Tony’s favorite section. Something about being that close to artifacts that people actually used-- Tony would have been an archaeologist in another life, he’s sure. It’s almost as if he can feel the faint hum of ancient energy through the pieces of tomb or something equally ridiculous. He’d boil it down to the hum of electricity through the whole building, or the hum of the arc reactor in his chest, but he knows what those feel like and this is different-- feels different, to him. He knows it’s stupid and sentimental, but it makes him feel like he’s not alone. Or something. Whatever. 

“It’s like they’re alive,” Steve says, reading his mind, holding his hand almost too close to the stones. Tony wonders for a moment if Steve’s actually going to touch them, but he jumps back when he hears a voice behind them. 

“Mr. Stark,” the voice says, and Tony turns on his heel and doesn’t look at Steve-- who looks a little guilty, like the guy knows that Steve was about to touch the stone and ruin everything-- and Tony tries not to laugh at the thought of Steve looking embarrassed as a curator yells at him for touching sacred, nearly priceless art. 

“That’s what they call me,” Tony says, and the man smiles in what seems like a nervous way. He’s wringing his hands, and he looks kind of sweaty, and Tony has no idea what he could want. He also looks kind of young-- maybe he’s an intern. A really bad intern, by the looks of it. Tony figures nepotism has something to do with this guy’s position. That, or a very generous donation from the guy’s parents. 

“Is everything to your liking, today? Can I get you anything?” 

Tony blinks, and then laughs so loudly that the other people in the exhibit shush him. (He politely does not point out that them shushing him makes just as much noise as his laugh.) The man looks even more distressed at that, and Tony chuckles quietly. 

“No, no, we’re fine,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “Though I could do with some water. Cap, you want some water?” 

Steve turns to look at him, seems to consider for a moment. “Yes, thank you. That would be nice.” 

Tony winks at him and turns back to the nervous intern--seriously, sweating that much should be considered a superpower; Tony will have to talk to Fury about it-- and stares expectantly. A moment passes between them in which they both stare at each other, until finally Tony clears his throat. “So, two waters?” 

“Right!” The intern flails and scampers off, going through a door that says STAFF ONLY. Tony wonders if it’s some sort of hazing ritual at the Met to send the worst interns out to greet the biggest donors. 

“He seemed nice,” Steve says, deadpan. Tony covers his laugh with a loud coughing fit, and a woman glares at him from next to a series of ivory carvings and shushes him loudly. Tony flashes her his billionaire grin.

“You know, I could probably get them to close the whole place down for us, if you wanted,” Tony says, moving to Steve’s side as he examines a figurine of a man carved from a tusk. He remembers one just like it in the mansion. Maybe he should take Steve there, he might like that. Actually, no; Tony’s not ready to face that closet of skeletons just yet. Or ever. 

Steve glances at him and smiles, eyes crinkling at the sides like that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever offered to do for him. (Which doesn’t make sense. He’s Captain America; surely people have offered to close down museums for him before.) 

“No. This is exactly what I wanted.” 

Steve steps away and walks through a doorway to another gallery while Tony tries to ignore the warm feeling spreading through his body, tries not to gape as he struggles to find something to say. Is that warmth thing normal? Maybe he should see a doctor or something; it’s happened a couple of times with Steve around. 

Tony looks at his own reflection in the glass of the display, runs a hand through his hair and follows Steve, trying to catch up.


	11. If I Try Hard Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, this is beta'd by the forever amazing sparklespiff. ch 12 is done and should be up sometime in the next few days. we're nearing the end, folks! exciting, right? thanks for reading, and as always, enjoy!

Bruce walks through the door on Sunday, and Natasha and Clint follow him in, looking as tan and ragged as he does. 

Tony is down in the workshop when the magical trio waltzes in. He gets an alert from Jarvis and pulls up the security camera feed to check for himself when he hears Steve thunder down the stairs to tell him. From three floors below in his workshop. Over the music. It’s a little impressive, really.

“Tony,” he says, breathless (in what Tony hopes is an excited way, because otherwise they’ll need to get Steve checked out, because stairs shouldn’t wind _Captain America_ like that), bursting into the workshop after punching in his code-- Tony gave him a card, but he can never slide it right, so Tony also provided a manual override-- and Tony looks up from his work, brows furrowing at the expression on Steve’s face. This can’t be good. Of course, all the bad guys would pick now to attack. 

“We got trouble?” he asks, and Steve shakes his head, lets out a long breath. He looks a little sick and jittery, like he’s really nervous about what he has to say. Oh fuck, did Dummy escape again and wreak havoc on the upstairs? No, Dummy’s right next to him. Did Steve accidentally break the couch again? Tony’s told him a thousand times not to just throw himself down on it, Christ--

“Bruce is back,” Steve says in a rush, and Tony blinks. “He brought Natasha and Clint.” 

“I know.” Tony points to the screens behind himself, where the security feed is following them through the living room. “Jarvis alerted me.” 

“Oh.” Steve seems to deflate a little bit. There’s a pause, and Tony taps his fingers on the metal table expectantly. 

“What?” he says, finally, a little bit harsher than he means to.

“Don’t you care?” Steve says, and Tony flinches slightly. He can’t help it: he wasn’t expecting Steve to say that, so he scoffs, trying to make up for it. 

“I have a lot of work to do. I’ll come up later.” Tony clears his throat and looks away.

“Right. I’ll just--”

“Hey, thanks for letting me know, though,” Tony says, interrupting him much more abruptly than he means to, and picks up his soldering iron. Tony realizes from the pinched look on Steve’s face that it probably seems like a brush-off. Like Tony’s being an ass on purpose and making fun of Steve for not considering the wonders of modern technology or whatever it is that the guys at SHIELD would make fun of him for-- Tony heard them once, when he was there for a meeting with Fury. He had to clench his fists so hard that he had fingernail marks in his palms the rest of the day-- but he’s not. He’s being genuine. Steve didn’t have to nearly single-handedly ruin the foundation and delicate infrastructure of his tower by running down the stairs to tell him that Bruce was back, but he had, and Tony’s appreciative of the thought. 

“No problem, Tony.” 

\---

Really, okay, maybe the reason Tony acted so blasé about Bruce coming back with the master assassins is because he can’t really believe it. 

Obviously he _believes_ it because they’re there, on his security camera feed, clearly speaking to one another and to Steve, but he really can’t quite believe that they’re just-- back. After a little over a year of no contact, they just waltz in with Bruce? (Officially, it’s a security breach, because Tony never got around to inviting them to live with him. At least, not like he did with Bruce and Steve.) How can they act like they didn’t all abandon Tony for some other life that didn’t involve him? Okay, maybe that’s a little harsh, but telephones exist, and Tony programmed his number into all of their phones for a reason. And Tony’s selfish, everyone knows that, so of course he’s going to be pissed at them all for leaving right after the adrenaline rush-- leaving him to crash on his own. 

It’d made sense, at the time, for them all to go their separate ways, because they all had things to do and personal stuff to sort out. But now Tony just feels awkward with them here. It’s not like he ever really had the chance to learn how to act around them. He doesn’t know how they work and fit together, and it’s unsettling. 

So that’s his reason for staying in the lab all night, far, far away from the rest of the Superfamily dinner. That, and he really does have to finish this prototype for R&D. 

He watches the screens as Bruce makes the food and sets the table, and pretends not to notice the way Steve and Bruce’s heads keep turning toward the stairs, as if they’re expecting someone to come up. 

His stomach, used to the regular meals that Steve’s been forcing on him, growls at him after he’s finished his prototype and the members of the Superfamily have all gone to bed, but he ignores it. The suit really needs these upgrades. Food can wait. 

\---

Sooner or later, Tony knows he’s going to have to deal with them and be civil and hold conversations but he just-- he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t think it’s fair that they get to waltz in here, eat his food and sleep in his beds after a year of _nothing._ Tony should kick them all out on their asses. 

He won’t, though, because he can see how happy they all look-- with the exception of Natasha, who just looks scary, like always-- on the screens when they’re together, and Tony can’t ruin that. He won’t let himself ruin something great just because he has the misfortune of being Tony Stark. He already ruined his relationship with Pepper; he needs something in his life to work out. 

But he still doesn’t want to talk to them, not until later.

\---

Unfortunately for him, it’s always the sooner rather than the later. 

Steve comes down to the lab on Monday evening, physically picks Tony up and throws him over his shoulder and carries him up the stairs. Tony protests the whole way, because okay, he knows he’s on the short side, but this is just humiliating, he’s not a damsel in distress. Steve sets him down on a chair at the head of the table and sits down next to him, giving him a look that clearly says if he tries to escape, he’ll have a super soldier right on his tail. 

Clint’s holding back a laugh, Natasha is giving him that stare that she gives him right before she stabs him in the neck with things, and Bruce is smiling at him. 

“Glad you decided to join us,” he says, and Tony swears Bruce learned that shit-eating grin from him. “I made you tacos.” 

There’s a tense moment where Clint’s face is turning red and then kind of purple from the effort of trying not to laugh, and Tony and Bruce are just staring at each other, seeing who’s going to give in first. 

Tony grumbles and picks up his plate, holding it out. Everyone at the table stares at him.

“What? Someone give me a damn taco.” 

\---

It isn’t easy. They don’t all immediately remember how to work together, and learning to live together proves to be slow-going, since they’ve never actually done that. Tony keeps accidentally running into Natasha while she’s in her towel and getting himself a death glare for his trouble, and while Steve and Bruce know to clean up after themselves to avoid moldy food and tripping on empty water bottles, Clint leaves his trash and dishes _everywhere_. 

“Why don’t you use a cleaning service?” Clint says one day, after Steve has kindly reminded him to at least put his dishes in the dishwasher for the _tenth time that day_. 

“Because Steve’s asked you, ten times today _at least_ to just do it yourself,” Tony says, before Steve can even open his mouth. Clint stares at him, like he can’t believe Tony just said that to him, which just irritates Tony more, because hey, he’s not a neanderthal, okay? He happens to be very focused on his work, and things like cleaning up don’t always occur to him. But he’s been better! “And because that’s an easy way for competitors to steal my tech,” Tony says, because no one has said anything for a while, and that’s weird. “Dress up like a maid, come with an agency. Hell, someone could even just get paid off to do it.” 

“All your important stuff is in the lab, though, right?” Steve asks, looking concerned. Tony snorts at him. 

“Yeah, the suit is, the spare arc reactors are, but things like this--” Tony holds up a tablet-- one of his special ones that’s super thin and completely touch screen and ten million times faster and better than an _iPad_ \-- and waves it around. “--this is technology that other companies are years away from. If anyone got ahold of this, I’d lose millions, and guess what, so would all of you. Because I pay for everything. So, Clint, maybe stop being an asshole and pick up your shit so I don’t have to use my time to build a robot specifically to clean up after you.” 

Clint’s mouth opens like he’s about to respond, but Tony stands. 

“Well, I’ll be in my lab, with my millions of dollars worth of technology,” he says, striding over to the stairs, ignoring whatever it is that Clint’s saying behind him. 

\---

After that, everyone (Clint) starts to make more of an effort to be clean and generally civil toward one another, because Tony, they’ve found out, isn’t afraid to call them out on their bullshit. He’s never been afraid to do that, and okay, they aren’t afraid to call Tony on his bullshit either, especially when Bruce and Steve do it all the time. 

They get to a point where it’s okay. A point where Tony’s not walking around and snapping at them all like a wounded dog, mad at his pack, and living together is nice. Peaceful, even. Clint picks up his trash, puts his dishes away after he uses them, and Tony buys Natasha a really nice, white fluffy robe with matching slippers. It even has her initials monogrammed onto it. 

So of course when everyone is getting settled, the Red Skull decides to come out of the abyss from which the tesseract sent him and fuck shit up. 

They get the call early in the morning and most everyone’s asleep, except for Tony and Bruce, who are going over some of Steve’s x-rays in Bruce’s lab. Tony never got the chance to show Bruce the jaw x-rays, since he’d been so in and out, wandering the globe, and neither of them really sleep. Ever. 

“You were looking for them, weren’t you?” Tony asks when the thought occurs to him, completely interrupting Bruce’s observation about Steve’s healing factor and gamma radiation. It wasn’t important. Probably. “For Natasha and Clint. That’s why you kept leaving.” 

Bruce stares, opens his mouth like he’s going to answer, like he’s going to deny what Tony already knows, but then he closes it and nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I was.” 

Then, their comm devices go off at the same time, and Steve’s voice-- no, _Captain America’s_ voice (and damn, if Tony hasn’t wanted to hear that sound again, at least a little bit)-- comes through them, crystal clear. 

“Avengers! Assemble!”


	12. This Is It Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is a fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by sparklespiff, as always, because she is glorious. any remaining mistakes are mine. enjoy!

Tony’s in his suit and out on the launchpad before anyone else to survey the city with Steve. Tony wonders briefly if Hawkeye and Black Widow even brought their uniforms, but then they both coming rushing out of the glass doors, all suited up. 

“What have we got?” Widow asks, and Steve just points to the horizon, where the Red Skull is riding towards them on some sort of aircraft, clearly of alien design, and following him is a giant--

“Is that a giant rock monster?” Hawkeye asks, and Tony clears his throat. 

“Anyone have Thor’s number?” Tony says, and everyone turns to give him a Look. 

“What?” he asks, shrugging. “It’s a valid--”

The sky breaks apart with the sound of thunder. Lightning strikes dangerously close to the tower, and Thor comes speeding down from the heavens. Or Asgard, technically. 

“Huh. Didn’t know the comm devices worked in other realms. Good to know.” Maybe Tony can use that as a marketing tool. ‘For all your intergalactic communication needs!’ Eh, maybe not. 

“Iron Man,” Steve says, hard, drawing Tony back in. He must be exasperated, and that’s a Steve voice if Tony’s ever heard one, let’s be real here, not a Captain America one. “Focus, please.” 

“Right,” Tony answers, and jets off to do some quick recon. 

\---

Thor, Hawkeye and Black Widow do their best to handle the rock monster, though it’s not until the Hulk comes in that they get a real edge on it. 

Tony and Steve handle Mr. Sunburn himself, which is actually a lot more difficult than Tony thought it would be. He knew, theoretically, that the Red Skull was like Steve, except evil and red, but he never stopped to think about all that strength and agility focused on him. It’s eye-opening, to say the least, and he keeps trying to blast the nasty fucker with the repulsors, but his aircraft has a large shield that seems to sense where the attacks are coming from. A quick scan lets Tony know that the shield on the aircraft is made of vibranium, like Steve’s, and Tony wonders where the hell the Red Skull got that much of the metal while he was floating through space and time. In any case, the only thing that’s hitting Red Lobster is Steve’s shield, but it’s really only doing so much. 

Currently, Tony’s flying Steve over to a building so he can get a better angle from which to fling said shield. 

“This isn’t working, Cap,” he says over the comm, and Steve makes a frustrated noise. 

“You’re right, but I don’t see another plan,” he says, and Tony chuckles, has Jarvis run a few specs and drops Steve off on top of a building, ignoring his protests. 

“Iron Man, come back here! What are you doing? This isn’t part of the plan! Iron Man!” 

Tony ignores him as he speeds away from the aircraft, taunting the Red Skull into a chase. Steve’s still yelling in his ear, but Tony’s real superpower is the ability to ignore anyone at any time, and this is no different. 

“It’s fine, Cap. I know what I’m doing,” he says, dodging blasts from behind. “The shield on the aircraft is smart and must have sensors that indicate where the strongest attack is coming from. I can overwhelm those sensors by hitting the aircraft with one large blast, I just need a place to--”

He’s speeding around the sharp corner of a building when Mr. Rock Monster rears his ugly head again and Tony very narrowly manages to evade him. His leg clips the stone shoulder, and the repulsor in his boot cuts out. 

“Little help,” Tony says into the comm, trying to evade the large, stone-slab hands that keep trying to take him out of the air. 

Thor flies up and chucks the hammer at the monster’s head, and it barely even chips the surface. 

“Where did he even find this thing?” Tony asks no one in particular, stopping-- rather stupidly, he will reflect later-- for the sake of a shrugging gesture. The momentary lapse in movement is all the monster needs, and Tony flies through the air and into a building. It’s not that bad, though; he’s just landed in a heap of desks and computers. Tony’s been through much worse, so he picks himself up and moves to the window, trying to find the best opening to attack.

“Iron Man, take cover.” Steve’s voice is in his head, and of course he can see Tony, standing in the gaping hole of the building with his perfect super vision. Tony looks down to where Steve is, but catches sight of the Red Skull first, speeding toward Steve, who isn’t paying attention, because he’s too busy throwing the shield over and over again at the rock monster. 

Tony acts before he thinks-- fires before he aims, as always-- and is out the window, moving toward the Red Skull as fast as his damaged suit will let him. He streaks past Steve, aiming for the Red Skull’s waist, to knock him clear off the aircraft, and is almost there when he feels it. 

A large pulse through his system and the air, so strong that it nearly knocks him off course. He looks to the aircraft, where the Red Skull is grinning at him. 

Almost simultaneously, Thor does his hammer spinning thing, calls the lightning or whatever it is that he does, and hits the rock monster so hard at the base of the neck that its whole body cracks, a zigzagged line down its center. 

The screen inside of Tony’s faceplate flickers, and then goes completely dark. 

\---

Tony’s falling. 

He can’t hear or see anything; he has no idea where he is, where anyone else is, or what he’s falling towards other than the ground. He’s smart enough to know that his momentum should carry him forward, toward the aircraft and the Asshole Skull-- okay, that’s not his best work, but he’s free-falling here, he has other things on his mind-- but he has no idea where he’s going and his chest _hurts_ because that EMP-- Tony knows that’s what it was, it’s the only thing it could be-- was strong, and his reactor’s flickering. 

He collides with something, hard and metal, and loses consciousness. 

\---

Tony Stark can count the number of times he’s almost died on one hand. 

Once, when he was fourteen and took his father’s Maserati out for a joyride and wrapped it around a telephone pole-- he’d been in the hospital for days for that one. He’s fairly certain it’s how he got himself sent to MIT so early. Another time when Obie-- no. Another when he had palladium poisoning, and couldn’t find a way out, couldn’t find a way to fix himself. 

For someone with a reputation of living dangerously, Tony really hates all his games of roulette with death. Because even though he always wins, he knows, when it comes down to it, that it’s a numbers game. If the odds are in his favor, that’s great, that’s what he loves, but he’s spent too much time gambling to think it’ll always stay that way. 

The house always wins, after all. 

\---

Tony wakes, gasping for air with Captain America crouched over his chest, fingers pressing into the arc reactor. His faceplate’s been wrenched off.

“Whoa, big guy, we ask before we touch,” he says, still trying to be flippant even though he feels like he’s suffocating with Steve this close to him and with his hands on his chest. No one’s allowed to touch him there, not even Pepper, not after--

Tony scoots away, smacking Steve’s hand. He realizes that they’re not on the street anymore, but in Tony’s lab, next to the drawers full of spare arc reactors. Tony takes a deep breath, and looks over to Steve, who’s still crouched, looking at the ground. 

“What happened?” he asks, and Steve looks up at him. He looks-- he looks like he’s been _crying_ , but Tony figures it’s probably just the adrenaline or something, or dust in his eyes. Or maybe the Red Skull insulted his friends from the forties-- Tony has no idea. But Steve looks wrecked.

“He fired something and you-- you just started falling,” Steve says, taking a few deep breaths through his nose. “You collided with his aircraft, and I threw my shield hard enough to knock him off. The uh-- well it started a crash course, and you-- I had to--” Steve takes one last deep breath, and in the time it takes him to do that, Tony realizes that Steve must have gotten him here somehow. Probably by flying the aircraft through a window. That’s what Tony would have done, at least. 

“You saved me,” he says, at the same time as Steve says,

“What you did was really stupid, Tony.” 

“What? Excuse you,” Tony squawks, then scoffs. “It was not. It saved you, didn’t it? And the rock thing is gone, I’m guessing-- nothing can survive lightning like that, seriously-- and I was just looking out for the good of the team, I--”

“You disobeyed a direct order.” Steve’s not yelling. He’s just looking at Tony, his eyes dark with what Tony figures must be anger-- it’s a little breathtaking, actually, and terrifying-- and speaking a low voice that’s making Tony’s heart beat a little faster than normal. But maybe that’s just the new arc reactor. Probably. Most likely. 

“So?” Tony says, sitting up straighter, starting to disengage and take off the suit manually.

“So? So, you could have gotten one of us killed! You could have gotten yourself killed! It was reckless and irresponsible, and-- and _dangerous_ , not to mention--” 

“I’m sure you will, though,” Tony says. He stands, prying the pieces of metal off himself. He still feels too closed in. 

“Not to mention,” Steve says louder, over him and standing as well, “the fact that there was _no reason_ for you to do a thing like that, so it really was just reckless--”

“You’ve said that.” 

“And _stupid._ ”

Tony turns, and stares down Steve’s best Captain America face for a long stretch of time. 

“You won’t do that again,” Steve says, voice low again, and dangerous. 

“I’ll do what I think needs to be done.” Tony throws his gauntlets onto the table with a loud _clang,_ and he’d stop to appreciate the symbolism, but he’s too fucking angry. 

“Then you’re benched,” Steve says, stepping toward him. “Until you can learn to follow orders.” 

“You’re just mad because I made the call before you did,” Tony says before he can really think about it. “You’re just pissed off because you want to be the one who decides whether or not I sacrifice myself. Let me tell you something, _Steve_ , it doesn’t work that way.” 

Steve flinches, and his face seems to pale and flush in unison, creating a blotchy palette of red and white across his cheekbones. His eyes narrow, and his jaw looks painfully clenched, like he’s grinding his teeth together. Tony finds a perverse satisfaction in the labored way Steve has to control his breathing. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve says quietly, taking his time, as if he’s trying not to pull a Bruce and transform into a giant rage monster. “But I definitely don’t like what you’re insinuating. I would never ask anyone to sacrifice themselves for the good of this team, and I would never make a call like that unless--”

“Unless it was me, because you have!” Tony throws his arms up, turns away from Steve, and he knows he’s being dramatic, but it’s kind of like how he knows his way through a good bottle of scotch or his way around an engine-- something at the back of his mind that he doesn’t think too hard about. “You’ve done it, I’ve seen the footage, you were perfectly fine with me _throwing myself into a separate dimension_ for the good of New York. Perfectly fine with telling Natasha to close up the portal because you thought I wouldn’t make it.” 

“Tony,” Steve says, his voice still low, but it sounds different now. Small and quiet and insecure. Tony is entirely unused to the sound of it. It makes him itch. “That’s not fair.” 

Tony laughs, and it sounds bitter, harsh even to his own ears. 

“Life isn’t fair, Cap,” he says. He turns and walks up the stairs to his bedroom, not stopping until he reaches his bed.


	13. You've Got to Let Them Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, beta'd by sparklespiff, who is my favorite. so I think probably about two or three more chapters should finish this story off, but I have no idea when they will actually be written/posted. ha. enjoy!

Tony makes sure there is absolutely no way he has to interact with Steve following their blow-up. 

It’s not that difficult, since he reprograms everyone’s codes and cards to his workshop and conveniently forgets give Steve his new ones. (He can’t give him the codes if he’s not talking to him, obviously.) He starts sleeping on the couch down in his shop, only eats when Bruce brings him food and very decidedly does not shower, in case he runs into anyone on the stairs. 

It goes like this for about three pathetic days until Natasha barges into the shop one day, throws a pair of clothes at him and says:

“Come on. We’re sparring.” 

The absolute last thing that Tony wants to do is get his ass kicked by Natasha, but he figures he deserves it. He’s missed a bunch of family meals, and she takes them really seriously. So, he changes into the clothes she threw at him and follows her up to the gym. 

\---

Clint’s already in there, taking on one of the punching bags that Tony’s had to reprogram since the broken jaw incident. He’s doing pretty well, which means he’s avoiding broken bones if not landing too many hits of his own. 

Tony tunes out the sound of Clint’s grunts and punches as he turns to Natasha, rolling his shoulders to work out the kinks. He crouches, takes his position across from her on the sparring mat, and inhales deeply. 

“Just don’t do the thigh thing, please?” Tony really has no urge to be strangled by her legs. Well, that’s not entirely true, but this isn’t the right situation for it. 

Natasha’s only reply is a smile. She moves to the left, slowly, crouched and starting to circle, but there’s no way Tony’s going to let her get behind him--he’s not feeling _that_ reckless-- so he matches her movement, still crouched and waiting. 

Which is, of course, when Clint decides to attack him from behind, driving an elbow into Tony’s ribs and knocking him off-balance. What the hell, how is that even fair? Tony recovers his balance and slams his fist into Clint’s sternum. Natasha swipes Tony’s feet out from under him, and he hits the mat with a loud _thud_ , all his breath leaving him at once. 

“What the fuck was that?” he snaps from the ground, looking up at Natasha and Clint, who just stare down at him with their creepy assassin smiles. 

“You’re not always going to be attacked by one person,” Steve’s voice says from the doorway. Tony holds back a groan. “And it’s not always going to be from one side. Get up, run it again.” 

“Uh, no thanks. I’m not a goddamn masochist.” Tony gets up from the mat and moves to go out the door, but Steve steps in front of him. Tony moves to the right, and Steve follows. He moves to the left, but Steve’s still there and-- seriously? They’re doing this? This is happening? 

“What? Too afraid to fight them?” Steve’s arms are crossed over his chest, and his voice is low, like he’s challenging Tony. 

“Uh, no, too smart to fight them. Besides, it doesn’t really matter how I fight since I’m benched. Now move.” 

Unsurprisingly, Steve stays where he is. Tony can feel Clint and Natasha staring at him, and he lets out a breath through his nose, annoyed. 

“Move, Rogers.” 

“No.” 

“I’m not going to say please.” 

“Maybe you should.” 

“Get out of my way. Seriously, I’m not kidding.” 

Steve raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware I looked like I was.” 

“Move.” 

“No.” 

“ _Move._ ” 

“ _No._ ” 

“I swear to--” Tony doesn’t get to say what he swears to, because it gets lost in a grunt as Steve attacks, catching Tony around the waist when he tries to go around him toward the door. 

They land on the mat with a _thud_ and Steve’s knees dig painfully into Tony’s ribs. What the fuck, why is Steve on top of him? 

“What is your problem, Rogers?” Tony struggles against his hold, though it’s pretty futile because he’s not getting free, so he stills. Maybe he can trick Steve and catch him off-guard. 

“My problem is you, Stark,” Steve says, still in that same low voice. Tony glares up at him because he really can’t do much else. 

“Care to elaborate?” 

“You’re moody, you’re volatile, you never sleep, you don’t eat enough--” Okay, Tony’s definitely regretting this. “--you never listen to my orders and you still manage to save the damn world each time anyway, so you’ll obviously never learn if no one teaches you.” 

“Did you just swear, Cap?” Tony raises an eyebrow. “Why, I never.” Steve presses down and oh, okay, the overbearing feeling of Steve’s weight pressing down on him is not what Tony needs right now. 

“You need to fix your attitude,” Steve says, his face much closer to Tony’s than it has any right to be, and Tony turns his head away. He can’t breathe, and not in the stupid cliche way like when Pepper left, but in the actual, physical, way. He can’t draw in a breath without getting dizzy. It’s starting to freak him out. Is he panicking? He might be having a panic attack.

“If I say fine will you get the fuck off of me?” 

“Maybe.”

“Fine, whatever, I’ll change. I’ll go to a fucking seminar if you want, just get off.” Steve’s weight leaves him and Tony manages to keep his gasp on the small end of the scale as he sits up. A hand goes automatically to his chest, checking that everything’s okay before he stands. 

“There is something seriously wrong with all of you,” Tony says, and then stomps out the door. 

\---

Tony finds Bruce in the kitchen making waffles. 

Tony’s really only in there to pour himself a glass of scotch, but he doesn’t want to do it if Bruce is in there, because the look he’ll get is bad enough and he’s been doing pretty well with staying away from the stuff. (The two weeks after his breakup don’t count.) He’s a little tired of it, too, particularly the way he always thinks it’ll make him feel better, less like an asshole, but in the morning just makes him feel like an asshole with a splitting headache. He’s maybe starting to realize that it’s not really worth it. Though he does miss the taste. Maybe just one glass anyway. Isn’t alcohol supposed to be good for your heart? 

Then the smell of the waffles hits him and he realizes that he’s a little ravenous. How long has it been since he’s eaten? Huh. 

“You decided to join the land of the living, I see,” Bruce says, stirring the waffle mix in a big bowl. Tony should buy him one of those chef hats. That’d be funny. He nods in response to Bruce’s question and pulls out a stool from under the bar. 

“Good,” Bruce says as Tony sits down. “Saves me a trip to your shop.” 

“You’re so good to me,” Tony says, smiling widely. This is Bruce, and Bruce will always be Tony’s favorite. Even if he did leave when Tony was going through a horrible breakup with one of the only people he loves enough to trust and trusts enough to love. But it’s fine! Bruce came back! That’s the important part. 

And the other, most important part is the plate of hot waffles Bruce puts down in front of him. He picks up the fork before Bruce really even has a chance to set it down and starts to cut the waffles, sighing with happiness when he takes the first bite. These are totally better than alcohol, and they help ease some of the tension still in him from the thing in the gym. (Not for the first time in his life, Tony considers the possibility that he may be an emotional eater.)

“You really should eat more,” Bruce says, making some waffles for himself. At least Tony presumes he is from the way he’s still at the counter and seems to be fighting with the waffle iron. 

“I try, but my chef has it in his head that it’s okay to leave for weeks at a time.” Okay, that came out meaner than he meant it. Bruce turns to look at him, an eyebrow raised. Tony waves him off. 

“Whatever, sorry, bad joke. Really though, Cap tried valiantly while you were out, but the guy can’t cook for anything.” That’s probably not true. It’s hard to find food appetizing when you’re being forced to eat it. And okay, it hadn’t tasted _bad_ and most of it was okay, he just-- Whatever. That’s not the point. And he doesn’t want to think about Steve right now.

“I find that hard to believe.” Bruce isn’t looking at him, he’s fiddling with the waffle iron, so Tony feels it’s appropriate to roll his eyes and stick out his tongue. “What’s the deal with that anyway?” 

“With the waffle iron? I might have modified it a little.” Tony really doesn’t know; he can’t exactly remember. 

“No, not with the waffle iron, with you and Steve,” Bruce says, sighing. That’s probably directed at the machine, though. At least, Tony hopes it is. He hasn’t done anything on purpose to get Bruce to sigh like that.

“What do you mean?” Tony slows down on his waffles, pushing them around his plate. He’s not so hungry anymore. 

“I mean, one minute you guys were fine. Friends, I’d even venture to guess,” Bruce says, turning to look at Tony. “Then you try to save his life, and now you’re avoiding each other. What happened?” 

“I’m not--”

“Don’t tell me you’re not avoiding him, I hate it when you insult my intelligence,” Bruce says, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Fine. We had a fight. Down in the shop. He-- I don’t know, he replaced my arc reactor and then started yelling at me about how I’m stupid and irresponsible and I might have implied that he was mad because he wants to be the one to decide whether or not I sacrifice myself. And then maybe I said that he’d done it before with the portal thing. You know.” He sets his fork down on his plate. Nope, definitely not hungry anymore. 

Bruce just stares at him with an expression that’s a mix of pity and something that says _you are the world’s biggest jackass._

“I know, all right? I get it,” Tony says, pushing his plate away. “I’m a fuck-up. Whatever. It’ll pass.” 

“Tony,” Bruce says, but Tony stands, cuts him off with a wave of his hand. 

“Just don’t. I’m sure whatever you have to say, I’ve already said it to myself,” he says, abandoning his plate at the bar and fleeing to his workshop again. 

\---

Tony figures he’s down there for about two more days when Steve comes in. 

He doesn’t actually know _how_ Steve gets in, because he still hasn’t given him his new access codes or cards. He figures Jarvis has something to do with it. The traitor. Really the only reason he’s aware of the intrusion is that his music gets turned down. Why does everyone think they’re allowed to do that when they enter _his_ lab? Don’t they know it’s rude?

“Tony,” Steve says, and Tony’s thankful for his welding mask because it keeps Steve from seeing the way his jaw tightens. He takes a deep breath, lets it out and rolls his shoulders back. It’s not worth another fight. Unless it makes Steve go away; then it might be worth it. 

“Can’t talk, busy,” Tony says, interrupting whatever Steve’s about to continue with, but he puts the blowtorch down anyway to grab a different tool. Steve looks at him for a moment, chewing on his lower lip. His gaze makes Tony nervous, makes his skin feel too tight, and he snaps. 

“What? What do you need?” 

“Nothing.” Steve shakes his head. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” 

“Well, you’ve never cared before,” Tony murmurs to himself, taking off the welding mask and running his hands through his hair. Steve’s silent for a moment before:

“How can you say that?” 

Tony blinks. Super hearing, right. Damn it. “I don’t think I’m fully qualified to explain the relationship between neural relays and the command centers in the brain to you. Try Bruce. He’s upstairs. I’m sure he’d love to help.” 

“Tony,” Steve says, sounding tired, sounding exasperated, sounding like he can’t fucking believe that Tony’s acting this way _again_ or _still_ or what the fuck _ever._ Tony has had it with this shit. He is not a child. 

“What?” he snaps again, so loud that Steve jerks back, eyes widening. “Why does everyone keep saying my name like that today? I don’t know why you’re all surprised when I act like this-- you knew what you were getting into. You chose to live here, I didn’t force anyone into anything, so _what?_ What do you fucking want?” 

“Just to-- to see if you’re all right,” Steve says, voice hesitant, and small, and Tony knows he’s being unfair, but he can’t help it. It’s in his nature. 

“Well, I hope you got your fucking answer,” he says, going back to his work. He doesn’t look up when he hears Steve’s retreating footsteps, or when his workshop door closes with an all-too-final slide. 

\---

Tony has an important date with a bottle of scotch. 

A date that is rudely interrupted about three-quarters of the way through by Bruce, who comes into his room and takes the bottle right out of his hands. 

“Excuse you,” Tony says, trying to sound affronted, but it probably doesn’t work. Everything’s a little hazy. It’s nice. Somewhere inside Tony knows it won’t be tomorrow morning, but he doesn’t care enough right now. 

“I’m done being nice,” Bruce says over him, pointing a finger at his chest and oh shit, Bruce isn’t going to Hulk out, is he? 

“I can see that.” Tony raises his eyebrows when Bruce’s finger makes physical contact with his chest. It kind of hurts. His nail is pointy and sharp. Ow. 

“Shut up. I’m angry enough as it is. Do you know what Cap’s doing right now?” 

“Uh, no, and I don’t care, thanks--”

“He’s in the kitchen.” 

Tony’s eyebrows go even higher. “The kitchen? What’s he doing?” 

“Cooking.” The way Bruce says the word makes Tony want to shudder, some primal fear related to the timbre of voices. What’s that even about? Why is Bruce so scary? Is Steve wearing his apron?

“Is he wearing your apron?” Tony asks. He really doesn’t understand how any of this is his fault. Or why he should care. 

“He is baking, to be exact. And do you know what’s involved in baking, Tony?” 

“An oven?”

“ _Flour._ All over my kitchen.” 

Oh. Technically it’s Tony’s kitchen. Maybe that’s not the best thing to say right now. “I’ll clean it up for you?” Tony ventures hesitantly. He still has no idea what Bruce wants. 

“Yes. You will. Right now. You’re going to go down to the kitchen and fix whatever is wrong with you and Cap, because this-- I can’t handle this anymore. Got it?” 

Tony nods so fast he gets a little sick. 

\---

“So, uh, sorry, I guess,” Tony says, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen. Man, he really doesn’t want to be here, but Bruce is really terrifying and he doesn’t need a Hulk situation. So. 

Steve, who is in fact wearing Bruce’s apron, smashes his hand down on the dough he’s kneading. If he heard Tony, he’s not responding, so Tony sighs, pushes himself up and makes his way into the kitchen. He leans against the counter next to Steve and crosses his arms across his chest. 

“I said I’m sorry,” he says, looking across the kitchen instead of at Steve. Tony sees him go still in his periphery, and then lean heavily on the counter for a moment. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Steve says, and Tony scoffs. 

“You always bake when you’re upset and then lie badly about it?” Tony thinks he sees the corner of Steve’s mouth twitch, but he can’t say for sure. 

“Nope, only special occasions.” 

“So I’m special, then?” Tony means it to be a joke, but it comes out too soft to be rightly considered as such. Steve stops again and moves right in front of him, puts his hands on the counter on either side of Tony’s hips and looks at him. Nope. Mayday, too close. This is not what Tony wants. He tries to shrink back into the cabinets. Predictably, it doesn’t work.

“Of course you’re special, Tony. I don’t know how you could think you’re not.” 

“Uh.” Tony blinks at him. Is he for real? Seriously? This conversation is going in a direction that Tony did not predict. The shock is probably what makes him answer. “Because I’m not? Because I’m a genius, but use it for the wrong-- Because I used to kill people and people loved me for it, and no matter how many I save now I just--” Tony snaps his mouth shut and knocks one of Steve’s hands away so he can get out. So he can breathe. He shouldn’t be saying any of this anyway. 

He crosses to the doorway, puts an island between them and crosses his arms again. “I’m just not good enough, Cap,” he says, turning away to walk out the door. A hand on his arm tugs him back around. 

“You are,” Steve says, and then he kisses him. 

\---

Tony Stark can count the number of times he’s been kissed by Captain America on one hand. 

It’s just one. It’s the one time, in the kitchen, that happens to be right now because _he is being kissed by Captain America._

Well, no. He’s being kissed by Steve Rogers, but it’s still the one time and he can still count it on the one hand. Anyway.

Both are things Tony was fairly certain would never happen. 

It’s kind of embarrassing that Tony doesn’t do anything, that he _can’t_ do anything except let Steve kiss him for all he’s worth in the middle of the kitchen. 

“ _What?_ ” Tony’s voice is rough when Steve pulls away, and he’s so tensed up that he thinks he might actually be made of stone right now, and forget about any buzz he might have had. Steve kissing him turned him to stone. Now that’s a superpower. 

“Tony, I--” 

“No,” Tony says, jerking free of Steve’s grasp. “No. Stop it. What is going on? Why did you just kiss me? Why did you just kiss me wearing Bruce’s apron?” 

Steve looks down at himself and Tony takes the opportunity to back away some more. 

“It’s the only apron in the Tower, I don’t--” Steve frowns when he looks up again. “You don’t need to run.” 

“I really, really do,” Tony says, and then he does. Right up the stairs into his room and he shuts the door behind him. 

It’s not even a minute later that Steve knocks and calls his name.

“Come on, Tony. Let me just talk to you.” 

“Nope!” Tony needs to process this. Why did Steve kiss him? Does Steve like him? If he does, why hasn’t Tony noticed it before? 

And then he thinks about it, really thinks about it-- the way Steve’s hung around, even through his breakup, the way he looked in the museum, the way he always asks questions about Tony’s life like he cares or something, the look on his face after Tony woke up in the shop, the look on his face when Tony yelled at him and told him life wasn’t fair and holy _shit._

“Holy shit,” Tony says, and opens the door to a red-faced Steve. He must be embarrassed, or something. Ashamed. Of course he’s ashamed. Fuck. “You like me.” Steve nods.

“I’ve been trying to tell you-- I’m sorry-- it was out of line for me to kiss you like that, it doesn’t have to happen again--”

“Hasn’t anyone told you what a horrible idea that is?” Tony says over him and Steve nods again. Well. There’s that, at least. “And you still like me anyway?” 

Steve grimaces, like he’s in physical pain and his face gets even _redder_ \-- seriously, it’s approaching Red Skull territory, must be a side effect of the serum-- and Tony can’t do anything but stare at him. Steve nods again.

“You are one crazy son of a bitch, Rogers,” he says finally, and closes the door in Steve’s face.


	14. Have You Ever Wondered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW sorry this took so long to write. the next updates are probably slow coming as well, but they're a-comin'! as always, beta'd by sparklespiff.

Here’s the worst thing about breaking up with Pepper: Tony has no one he can talk to about shit like Captain America being hot for him. Which is a _huge_ pity, because once the shock’s worn off a little, he can’t actually believe it. Captain America has a crush on him! Isn’t that every American’s wet dream? 

Arguably there’s nothing in Tony’s past behavior that would suggest that he’d even really talk to Pepper about this, but he’d like to at least have the option. He could call Rhodey, but then he’d have to explain the whole situation and Tony doesn’t have that kind of attention span. Besides, Rhodey’s probably busy. As usual. He’s fairly certain that Bruce is still mad at him-- though obviously he hasn’t checked with Bruce-- and he doesn’t know Clint all that well. Which he should probably work on, if he’s going to stop being an ass. And Natasha would probably stab him with something if he tried to talk to her about relationships.

So, in lieu of having someone to speak to, Tony stays in in his workshop and drinks. 

\---

Natasha comes to find him again and he points his soldering iron at her in what he hopes is a threatening way. 

“No,” he says, stabbing the air for emphasis. “Whatever you want me to do, no. I’m not going to do it.” 

She quirks an eyebrow at him and sits down on a stool across the table. “I’m not here to spar with you.” 

“Well, good. Because that was really uncalled for, even for you. I was just getting to a point--” 

“I know, and I’m sorry.” 

“--to where I could trust you again, after the stabbing in the neck-- wait, what?” 

Natasha folds her hands in front of her, and leans forward. “I said I’m sorry.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes. Don’t make me regret it.” 

Tony narrows his eyes at her, tilts his head a little and considers. On the one hand, he’s never heard Natasha apologize for anything, so he’s not sure if he trusts it. But on the other, he doesn’t really have anything to lose, if she is acting. Wait, do those go one the same hand? Whatever. He shrugs and doesn’t say anything else. See, he can be quiet sometimes. And not annoying.

But never for too long. 

“Sooooo, is that the only reason you came in here?” 

Natasha sighs, and the tight line of her shoulders eases just a bit. Tony’s pretty sure that’s the only time he’s ever seen her kind of relax. He didn’t know it was possible for her spine to be anything but painfully straight. 

“I thought we could talk,” she says, shrugging, picking at the cuticles on her fingernails. Tony takes it as a sign of nervousness, but he’s also knows what she’s capable of. He wonders briefly if she ever wanted to be an actress. 

“Did you ever want to be an actress?” He goes back to his work, and Natasha huffs out a laugh. 

“A long time ago. I also wanted to be a dancer. Guess which won, in the end.” He can hear the grin in her voice, so he shoots one back at her. 

“What are we talking about, then?” he asks, because okay, she could be acting, but Tony trusted her once, when he was sick and dying and reckless, and she’s never really done anything to him except try to make sure he doesn’t kill himself. So, if she wants to talk, they can talk. Except they don’t seem to actually be talking, because the silence drags on for a little while. 

“Bruce found us in Morocco.” 

Tony looks up and blinks at her. “What were you doing there?” He says it slowly, because he knows it’s what she expects, and he really doesn’t feel like being an asshole today. This is the first human contact he’s had in at least a week. 

“Taking a vacation, hiding, whatever you want to call it.” Natasha shrugs again. “But he found us, told us there was a place here for us, if we wanted it.” 

Tony can’t make himself look her in the eye. He keeps his gaze locked on the boot that he’s repairing. “Did you want it?” he asks, so quietly that he doesn’t really expect her to answer. 

“Yeah,” she says, and he looks up. “We did.” Her gaze is softer than usual, but no less piercing. Usually it makes Tony feel trapped, but right now it’s making some kind of tension melt out of his shoulders. 

“Why?” 

“Because you’re a good man, Tony. We knew-- _I_ knew-- that you’d take care of us.” 

Tony scoffs at that. Of course; he’s a billionaire. “Good to know my fortune from years of war-profiteering was good for something.” 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” 

“Natasha, forgive me, please, seriously and don’t hurt me when I say this-- but honestly? I never have any idea what you mean.” 

A flicker of-- something, maybe hurt?-- passes over her face and her spine goes straight again. She stands, slowly, and Tony’s only thirty percent sure that she’s not going to kick his ass. 

“I meant that you care for people-- _love_ people, even if you don’t know how to get along with them more than half the time.” 

She walks out after that, leaving him to stare down at his broken boot. 

\---

After that discussion, it’s a little easier for Tony to run into Natasha in the hall or sprawl out next to her on the couch. It’s not perfect-- because realistically, he’s never not going to be afraid that she’s about to stab him or kick him or something-- but nothing in Tony’s life is perfect. So he takes what he can get, when he can get it. 

Like a Thursday when he’s stretched across the couch and Natasha’s sitting sideways in an armchair. They’re watching _Sixteen Candles_ , and while it’s not really Tony’s kind of movie, it’s one of Natasha’s favorites. Even if she would never admit that. Ever. But it’s the one she always chooses, so Tony figures it must be. Also Jarvis might have told him that she said it was her favorite once. 

“Why do you think Bruce came looking for you?” he asks somewhere around the middle of the film. Natasha glances over at him and shrugs. 

“I think Bruce knows us all a little bit better than we know ourselves.” She says it to the screen nearly five minutes later. Tony’s almost forgotten what he asked. Almost. 

“What does that even mean?” 

“It means I knew you were lonely, even with me and Pepper,” Bruce says from somewhere behind him and Tony jolts, nearly falling off the couch. 

“Jesus, give a guy some warning. Has she been giving you sneaky lessons? Because that’s not fair. I want lessons too.” 

“I know how to be sneaky on my own, Tony,” Bruce says, smiling. He comes around the end of the couch, smacking Tony’s legs gently before sitting down. Tony scrambles to avoid crushed feet. 

They watch in silence for a while-- except the occasional chuckle from Natasha, which never fails to astound Tony-- until the film ends and Natasha excuses herself. Tony sits up, scratching the back of his head. Maybe Bruce will want to watch something else. Oh, maybe he’ll want to play a video game. There’s that one that Tony’s been developing that really needs testing, all he has to do is grab it from the lab--

“Hey, Tony,” Bruce says, putting a hand on Tony’s back. “I just want to apologize for how I acted. The other day. It was--” 

Tony waves him off before he can say anything else. “It’s fine, promise. I deserved most of it.” 

Bruce sighs and Tony leans back on the couch. “Well, I’m still sorry,” Bruce mumbles, and Tony grins at him. There’s a moment of silence before: 

“What would you do if, hypothetically, Captain America had a crush on you?”

Tony doesn’t see Bruce’s face, but he can feel him shift. He’s probably uncomfortable. Great, Tony made him uncomfortable without even trying. Any other time (or any other person) and he’d count it as a win. 

“Well, I think I’d tell him thanks but no thanks. Spandex isn’t really my thing.” Tony snorts, but Bruce continues, “But if Steve Rogers told me he liked me? I think I’d have to stop and think about why.” 

“What if I have no idea why he likes me?” Tony asks, leaning over to rest his head on Bruce’s shoulder. 

“Hypothetically?” He can hear the laugh in Bruce’s voice. Jerk. Tony pinches him in the side. 

“Yes, hypothetically, asshole.” 

“Then I guess you’d have to ask him. Hypothetically.” 

Tony nods against Bruce’s shoulder and pulls back, leaning against the couch again. He’s suddenly very tired. He needs more coffee. Or maybe to actually sleep. When was the last time he slept? He has no idea. Maybe Jarvis knows. 

“Do you really think I’m lonely?” He turns his head to look at Bruce, who’s already looking at him. Tony realizes that he’s been kind of pathetic lately, and more than a little mopey, but he doesn’t care. He’s knee-deep in a funk and doesn’t know how to get out of it. 

“I think we’re all lonely,” Bruce says, patting Tony’s knee. “I thought maybe we’d help each other be a little less lonely.” 

All Tony can do is nod.

\---

The thing is that Tony really does like everyone who lives with him. Tony _likes_ them. He likes Natasha’s terrible taste in movies, the way Bruce always knows what he wants to eat and the way Thor kind of comes and goes but is always a good laugh when he’s there. He even likes the way Clint perches on the furniture and falls asleep. (He doesn’t, however, like getting Clint down when that happens.) He likes that Clint trains Dummy and Butterfingers to do stupid things like juggle, and he likes that Bruce and Natasha do yoga every morning on the balcony beside the newly installed pool. 

He’s not sure if it’s because he was so attention-starved as a child, or if it’s because he was so isolated from his peers his whole life, but when they all cram into the living area to watch _Seinfeld_ on the big screen, he finds himself startlingly content. (Clint has all the DVDs and has taken it upon himself to introduce Thor and Steve to the 90s. They both find it hilarious, whereas Tony finds it sort of horrifying. He’s glad he doesn’t remember most of them. Though he does enjoy watching Natasha do the Elaine dance. Anyway.) 

But another thing is that as Tony spends more time with the people who live with him who aren’t Steve-- like when it’s Clint down in the workshop, talking to the robots or Bruce in his lab, talking to Tony about some gamma radiation thing-- he realizes that he kind of misses him. 

Not like, in a major way or anything, because it’s not-- he and Steve never really made it to _friends_. There was something calming about his presence that Tony doesn’t get from anyone else. They could sit in his shop while Tony worked and Steve was happy to stay there with him. He never needed attention, never really seemed to need Tony to be listening to what he had to say. They could just sit together, do their separate things, and it was fine. 

But now Steve spends all his time in the gym or in the library or with Clint or Natasha or Bruce and Tony’s way too much of a coward to go and talk to him like Bruce suggested. He thinks he should be disgusted with himself-- with the fact that he can’t even bring himself to fix things with the one person who actually makes him less lonely-- but he also just can’t bring himself to care. Because if he cares, then he has to face the possibility that he’d be letting yet another person down. 

\---

“I swear to god, Barton, if you hit me one more time, I’ll--”

“You’ll what? Yell at me? Ohh, I’m really scared.” 

Tony looks up from the delicate motherboard he’s holding to glare at Clint, who’s been throwing sunflower seed shells at him with his typically impressive accuracy. They’re wet, too. The shells. Because they’ve been in Clint’s mouth. Because he eats the seeds before he throws the shells at Tony. 

Tony is so unimpressed that it almost hurts. “No,” he says, “I won’t upgrade your bow like you’ve been asking me to. I’ll do the opposite. I’ll make it worse.” Tony figures he can find a way. He has enough faith in himself for that, at least.

Clint holds his hands up and shrugs. “Fine, whatever.” 

“What are you doing down here, anyway?” Tony asks, looking back down at his work. It’s not unusual for Clint to be in the workshop with him, but he’s normally messing with the robots or looking at the different versions of Tony’s armor or getting fingerprints on the hoods of Tony’s cars. Clint doesn’t generally sit and throw shit at Tony. He must be bored. 

“Bored.” Ha! “Natasha’s sparring with Cap and Bruce is buried in his research.” 

“So you thought you’d come down here and bother me? You know, for someone who likes to be alone, you sure do need to be around people all the time,” Tony says, without any real bite to it. 

“What can I say, I like to nest.” Clint grins at him, and Tony picks up a washer and chucks it at his head. He misses, which isn’t entirely surprising. Clint sticks out his tongue at him, and Tony throws another washer. It hits Clint in the arm, and he makes a noise of protest. 

“No, but really, what do you want?” 

Clint shrugs, and Tony sighs. This is why he misses Steve. Steve would just tell him what’s wrong. Or not be annoying in the first place. Tony doesn’t have time for games. 

“I don’t have time for games,” he says, waving a hand around only somewhat erratically. “I’m a very busy man.” 

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding Cap?” 

Tony looks up at Clint, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t give me that bullshit. We can all tell. You act like he’s got some disease that’ll kill you slowly and make your brain drip out of your nose.” 

“That’s...eerily specific. Maybe watch fewer horror movies, yeah?” 

“My point is: you’ve been avoiding him and he’s been wandering around looking all sad. He hasn’t looked that sad since we all separated, you know?” 

Tony blinks at him. “I don’t control Steve’s happiness. Or his feelings or whatever. That’s not--”

“No, dude, maybe you don’t, but you are his friend.” 

“So are you.” 

“You’re like, his best friend. He obviously misses you. I don’t know what happened but maybe you should say something?” 

Tony opens his mouth to protest but Clint cuts him off with a wave of his hand. 

“No, I’m not saying it was your fault, so don’t even try that.” Is Tony really that predictable? Christ. “I’m just saying that he might need you to take the first step. Or something. Fuck, man, I don’t know. I’m out of sunflower seeds.” 

“That’s because you threw them all at me,” Tony says, but he’s not really thinking about it. 

Clint just waves him off and leaves, presumably to get more sunflower seeds. 

\---

Tony decides he’s being a fucking tool. 

Because a) he is being a fucking tool and b) he’s being a fucking tool.

Steve never said he expected anything from Tony, and he never said he wanted anything. He’d just said he liked him and then Tony slammed the door in his face and ignored him for another week and a half. That isn’t fair. Sure, it’s in Tony’s nature to be unfair, but it’s Steve, who was just another lonely superhero before Tony brought him in. (And oh, the irony is not lost on Tony that he’s the one who brought Steve back, not Bruce.) 

Okay, Steve could have handled it better, and Tony would have definitely preferred if Steve had handled it better-- like, by maybe not being weird and yelling at him and kissing him in the middle of the kitchen-- but the point still stands that Tony’s being a tool by ignoring Steve, who obviously just needs a friend. Tony didn’t save himself with a box of scraps in a cold-as-fuck cave in Afghanistan just so he could continue being an asshole. He’s supposed to be growing as a person, and he can’t grow if he’s running away from Steve every chance he gets. 

\---

“So you like me.” Tony stands in the doorway of the library, arms crossed over his chest and looking at Steve, who’s reading an honest-to-God _newspaper_. Tony didn’t even know those were still in print. 

Steve sighs into his paper, takes the time to re-fold it along the creases and sets it on the table next to him. He doesn’t turn around. “I’m not going to have this conversation with you if I can’t see you,” he says, and okay, Tony figures that’s fair. The least he can do, really. 

Tony walks around to stand in front of Steve, arms still crossed over his chest. “You like me,” he says again, fingers of one hand digging almost painfully into his bicep. He won’t run this time. He won’t. This team won’t work unless they all get along. Tony has to fix this. 

“I like you,” Steve says, just staring at Tony like it’s not even a big deal. Which it totally is. People like Steve Rogers don’t just _like_ Tony Stark. Rarely anyone likes Tony Stark. 

“Why?” Tony asks, and Steve sighs. 

“Because you’re a good man--” he starts, but Tony interrupts. 

“You know, everyone has been telling me that, but I don’t see--” Steve presses his lips into a thin line and Tony snaps his mouth shut, motioning for him to continue. 

“You’re a good man, even if you can’t see it for yourself. You-- you’re interesting, you’re funny, you never once treated me like I was glass when I woke up. You treated me like everyone else. You let me into your home, your intellect is _staggering_ , especially to see in action, but you never make me feel like I’m an idiot--” 

“Okay, okay.” That wasn’t really the answer Tony was expecting. He isn’t sure what he was expecting, maybe something like the usual bullshit he gets fed by anyone who wants to impress him, but this is Steve. He should have known better. 

“I can’t--” Tony sighs, looks at the ceiling and then looks back down to Steve. He’s not good at this kind of thing. “I can’t promise you anything but friendship, Cap. I can’t-- I don’t-- The thing with Pepper wasn’t so long ago and I don’t know if I can--” He stops, and swallows, but it’s harder than he’d like. “I can be your friend, Cap.” 

“Could you call me ‘Steve?’” Steve’s voice is hesitant, and his hands are tangled together in front of him. Tony sighs. 

“Yeah, yeah, I can.” Tony moves forward, crouches in front of him and puts his hands on Steve’s knees. “I can be your friend, Steve. I’m not sure you’d want me for anything else. You might think you do, but, trust me, you don’t.” 

Steve looks at him, and his mouth twitches like he’s going to smile, or say something, but Tony tightens his grip on Steve’s knees and he stays silent. 

“So,” Tony says, finally, voice quiet because of the proximity and they’re in a library, for God’s sake. He’s supposed to be quiet, right? “Can we be friends?” 

Steve nods, and lets out all his breath at once. “Yeah, Tony. We can.” 

“Good.” Tony smiles at him, and when Steve smiles back, it’s surprisingly familiar. 

It takes Tony entirely too long to realize it’s the smile Steve plasters on at the end of a particularly rough press conference. It’s his ‘Captain America’ smile, and it’s more than enough to make Tony feel sick to his stomach when he thinks about it.


	15. Don't Forget as you Ease on Down the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO LOOK AT IT, IT'S BACK! first off, I'm super sorry I haven't updated in like, two months, that SUCKS I AM THE WORST. To make up for it, this chapter's almost 5000 words long, so I hope you enjoy. it's un-beta'd so there are probably mistakes and for that, I'm sorry. also, I think there's probably going to be one more chapter after this one, which hopefully will be written/posted by the end of october. (one can hope) Thanks so much for reading!

Steve’s humming. 

He’s humming and he’s been humming for the past fifteen minutes and Tony has no idea whether or not Steve’s even aware of the fact that he’s making noise. Usually Tony can tune out whatever it is that Steve’s doing, but there’s something about the song-- something so familiar that it sets him on edge. 

“You know you’re humming, right?” He blurts it because he can’t help himself, but he also can’t concentrate on this upgrade he’s trying to make for the new prototype for Stark Industries. Steve stops-- thank fucking _God_ \-- and blinks at him, setting his sketchbook down. 

“Oh. Sorry. I’ll uh--” His mouth twists and his cheeks color and okay, Tony feels kind of bad now. Maybe. Not really. 

“No, I mean, it’s fine, do what you want. Make your own kind of music, sing your own special song, I get it. I just--” Tony takes a deep breath and centers himself. “ _What_ are you humming, exactly?” 

Steve frowns and gets a glazed over look in his eye that means he’s back in the war. Tony knows it well. “Probably just one of the songs we’d sing to pass the time,” he says finally, shrugging, the light coming back to his eyes. 

Tony doesn’t believe him, but lets it go. It’s definitely not worth an argument, especially since he’s trying this new thing where he’s not an asshole all the time. It’s more of a continual thing, really, but Tony’s still hasn’t got the hang of it quite yet. Old dog, new tricks or whatever that stupid saying is. But now that Tony thinks about it, Steve has been acting kind of weird lately. Like like smiling for no reason at breakfast and leaving the house at night to do things and be sociable. Maybe he’s finally adjusted to the 21st century. “You happy about something?” 

“Not in particular.” Steve shrugs, but he’s smiling again and Tony can tell that he wants to start humming that damn song. What the fuck? 

“Right,” Tony says, “Well, this is a lab of death and despair, so I’m gonna need you to leave.” Steve screws up his mouth like he’s trying not to grin, but Tony can see the laughter in his stupid blue eyes. It makes that warm feeling in his chest pop up again, and hello, old friend, Tony hasn’t missed you one bit. He rubs at his chest, just under the arc reactor and forces himself to frown. “Really. I mean it. No humming, or I won’t finish this. Don’t think I won’t revoke your clearance,” he says, threatening as Steve outright laughs at him. How rude. 

“Okay, Tony, I’ll stop. Promise,” Steve says, picking up his sketchbook. And he does. Except now it’s _too_ quiet and Tony can’t handle that either. 

“Jarvis, play ‘Captain’s Playlist’ please.” Tony definitely doesn’t look at the way Steve’s head tilts in the corner of his eye. 

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis replies and immediately after, “Take the A Train” fills the workshop. Tony glances to Steve, who’s already got that distant look in his eye as he stares at Tony, mouth slightly open. 

“What?” Tony doesn’t mean to snap. It just sort of happens. Steve’s head jerks back and he blinks. 

“Ah, nothing,” he says, pink dotting his cheekbones. Tony’s getting really tired of this deflection crap, and that’s saying something. Deflection is Tony’s go-to response. 

“Okay, well, if you think of it, let me know, I’ll be waiting on tenterhooks,” Tony says, going back to his work and trying not to sound as snippy as he feels. Being snippy with Steve isn’t really conducive to being a good friend. Steve doesn’t say anything else.

\---

“So where do you go all the time?” It’s Thursday and Tony’s in his workshop with Steve again. Steve’s been sketching, and Tony doesn’t know why but the sound the pencil makes on the paper is driving him fucking crazy. Like the humming, but worse. It stops, thankfully, when Tony asks the question. 

“Out,” he says, and Tony snorts.

“No shit. Out where?” Tony doesn’t consider the possibility that Steve may not want to tell him. They’re friends now, right? Friends tell each other stuff. Or so Tony’s heard. Steve shifts in his seat and clears his throat. 

“Uh mostly to lessons. Classes. Drawing classes,” he says, lifting his sketchbook and waving it. Right. Makes sense. 

“What do you draw?” Tony gets out of his seat to peer into the book but Steve closes it with a snap and pulls it close to his chest. Tony stops, blinks, and puts his hands up in surrender. “Fine, never mind, touchy subject, okay. I get it. Just figured friends tell each other shit like that-- I don’t know.” Tony knows it’s a low blow from the way Steve’s brow screws up like he’s confused. And maybe in a little bit of pain. 

Tony would feel bad, he really would, but things have been weird since their kind of truce. Steve comes and sits with him but it’s not at all like it used to be. Every little thing that Steve does grates on Tony’s nerves when before they could just sit and be at peace with each other. Or, Tony could be at peace with him. He isn’t sure if it’s because he knows now, that Steve has-- had? still has? Tony has no idea, and Steve’s not dropping any hints-- feelings for him or if it’s just that Tony inevitably gets tired of everyone he knows. He hopes, in a twisted sort of way, that it’s the former. 

Steve frowns, and after a moment of silence that’s filled with Steve fidgeting awkwardly with his sketchbook, he sighs. “It’s-- private. I don’t-- I’m glad we’re friends now, really--” And he looks so earnest that Tony has to believe him-- “but I don’t think I’m ready to show you. Yet.” 

Tony nods, and figures it must all be pictures of him. What? Steve’s said he likes him-- has _feelings_ for him-- why wouldn’t he draw him all the time? And they’re always together when Steve’s drawing. Tony doesn’t think it’s a self-centered deduction. 

“Alright, you’re the boss,” Tony says with a shrug, going back to the schematics currently hovering in front of him. It only takes a few moments for the _scritch scritch scritch_ of Steve’s pencils to begin again. 

\---

Pepper makes him to go a charity ball. Benefit. Thing. 

Okay, Pepper isn’t making him go so much as reminding him that it’s _his_ charity that he started in his mother’s name, so he should probably make an appearance at it, shouldn’t he? She also uses the puppy dog eyes at him during their meeting and-- damn her, she must know they still work on him. She’s so _smart_. Really, it’s one of the things he loves most about her. When it’s not used against him. 

In any case, Pepper tells him that if he doesn’t show up, date in tow and sober-- which, okay, he’s mostly stopped drinking this time, honest-- she’ll quit and go work for a non-profit that wants to save the rainforests. Tony’s not stupid enough to call her bluff. 

So, he goes home that day and walks into his living room to find Bruce, Natasha and Clint all sprawled out, watching a movie. _St. Elmo’s Fire_ , this time, and Tony barely manages not to roll his eyes. 

“Who wants to go to a charity event with me?” The heads in the room snap towards him, and ha! He managed to sneak up on them! 

“I can’t,” Natasha says coolly, “I’m busy.” 

“You don’t even know what day the event is,” Clint says, turning to look at her and getting elbowed in the side for his efforts. “Ow! I mean--” He frowns and rubs his ribs. “Yeah, Natasha and I are busy. For the next two weeks.” Tony doesn’t even bother to answer them, he just turns to look at Bruce, who shrinks into his chair. 

“Sorry, Tony. I’m in the middle of a lot of research. I should actually get back to it.” And then he gets up and half-runs out of the room. What is going on? 

“Well,” Tony says, “Thor’s off-planet still, right? Can’t take Jane-- he’d kill me, same goes for that hot intern. Pepper won’t go with me and that’d be awkward anyway--”

“Why don’t you ask Steve?” Natasha says, not looking away from the screen. Tony narrows his eyes at her. 

“Is that what this is about? A big plan to get me to take Steve on a date? That’s sneaky and cruel, I hope you all know that.” 

“Hey,” Clint says, holding his hands up, “I don’t have anything to do with anything. I just don’t want to get elbowed again.” 

“It’s not a plan, Tony,” Natasha says, rolling her eyes. “You’re paranoid. You have a problem and I presented a solution. You could also contact Colonel Rhodes and see if he’s available, but given his schedule, he probably isn’t.” 

Tony purses his lips. “I still don’t believe you. I am going to ask Rhodey. And then I’ll ask Steve, and it won’t be a date. Just to prove you wrong.” 

“Why would it be a date even if you did ask Steve?” Clint asks, holding Natasha’s arm, presumably so she can’t hit him again. “I mean, you don’t like him, right? You’re friends. Friends do things together.” 

“Right, exactly,” Tony says, waving a hand. “You understand, but some people--” He eyes Natasha, who still isn’t looking at them-- “might have different ideas. Of course it wouldn’t be a date. Which is why I’ll ask him after I ask Rhodey. Jesus Christ, talking to you guys is like explaining coffee makers to Thor. I have to go.” 

“Tell Rhodes I say hi!” 

“Whatever, Clint.” 

\---

Rhodey, unsurprisingly, can’t make it. 

“Just ask someone on the team, man. You know I’d come if I could,” he says, and Tony fights the urge to roll his eyes. It’s not a video chat, but Rhodey always knows. “And don’t make that face. I would. You just have bad timing.” See. 

“Yeah, seems like it,” Tony says, mumbling, and Rhodey sighs. 

“You really can’t ask anyone else? What about Bruce? You’re always talking about him.” 

“Don’t be jealous, sweetpea, I’ll always love you most. And no, he can’t come. He’s got research or something.”

“Natasha? Clint? _Thor?_ ”

“They’re both busy and Thor’s off-planet. The only person I haven’t asked is Steve.”

“Why not? He seems like he’d be good. I bet old ladies love him.” 

“Yeah, it’s just weird, I guess,” Tony says, wincing. He hasn’t told Rhodey the whole story yet. This isn’t going to end well. Well, it could end just fine, actually, if Rhodey doesn’t get mad. 

“What do you mean, ‘weird’? Do you guys still hate each other?” 

“No, he-- uh-- Kind of told me he liked me? And kissed me in the kitchen?”

The line is silent for a solid thirty seconds. Please don’t be mad, please don’t be mad, please don’t be mad.

“Rhodey? Rhodes? You still with us?” Tony’s actually kind of worried. What if Rhodey had a heart attack or something? What if he had an aneurysm from the sudden rush of rage? It’s possible! 

“What?” Okay, good. Still there. “No, yeah, _what?_ What do you mean he kissed you in your kitchen?” 

“Yep. I mean I was trying to apologize for....something? And he just-- I don’t know-- I don’t really remember how it happened.” See, Tony knew Rhodey would react this way. Of course Rhodey can’t believe someone like Steve would ever have feelings for Tony Stark. More than half the time Tony doesn’t even believe it himself. 

“Well,” Rhodey pauses, and Tony can just imagine him tilting his head. “Did he use tongue?” 

“ _What?_ ” That was a squawk, Tony’s squawking. “Did you-- Rhodey did you just ask me if Steve Rogers used tongue while kissing me?” 

“You bet your ass I did.” Rhodey should not sound as amused by this as he does. 

“I should hang up on you right fucking now. I can’t believe you!”

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t kiss and tell; we both know that’s a lie. Come on. Give me something. No tongue? Maybe a little teeth? Is he one of those who has a bunch of spit and it’s gross?” 

Tony hasn’t actually thought about the kiss more than the initial _wait, what the fuck, Steve is kissing me_ panic, but he remembers-- hmm. He remembers Steve smelling faintly like mint, like he’d brushed his fucking teeth or something like-- like he’d _planned_ it. He remembers Steve’s fingertips pressing into his jaw on one side and the hand cradling the back of his head. He remembers how _soft_ Steve’s lips were, and how he was so insistent and gentle at the same time, and oh fuck. This is a problem. 

“Hello? Earth to Tony?” 

“Yeah,” Tony says, his voice coming out much more strangled that he’d like to admit. He clears his throat, shakes it off. It doesn’t quite work. “Yeah, I’m here. Man, stop asking me about how Captain America kisses. I refuse to fuel your adolescent fantasies. That’s disgusting, Rhodey.” 

Rhodey laughs. “Yeah, whatever Tony. Look, I gotta go, but it was great to talk to you. You should try calling more often. Maybe even at times when you don’t need something from me.” 

“We’ll see. I don’t know if I can trust you if you just want the dirty details, you perv.” 

“I love you too, man. Talk to you soon.” 

Tony ends the call and leans back in his chair to stare at the ceiling. Steve it is, then. 

\---

“Hey tough guy,” Tony says, leaning against the doorway to the gym. Steve kicks one of Tony’s custom bags away so hard that it hits the wall and splits in half, sending sand and wires everywhere. Tony blinks.

“Uh. Okay. You all right?” Tony asks only because people who are okay don’t generally kick punching bags into a wall and make them explode. You know. Just something he’s noticed. 

“Sure, Tony,” Steve says, grabbing his towel and wiping the sweat off his forehead. He sets it down and grabs his water bottle. “I’m fine. You need something?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, pushing himself off the doorframe and very determinedly _not watching_ the movement of Steve’s throat as he drinks from it. He also doesn’t watch the way Steve licks his lips when he pulls the bottle away. Nope. No way. Not the kind of thoughts he needs right now. 

“What is it?” Tony, focus! 

“Well, Pepper uh-- she reminded me that I have to go to this charity event for the Maria Stark Foundation and threatened to leave me if I don’t come.” 

Steve stares at him for a moment. “Didn’t you already break up?” 

“Yes! Yeah, no, not that kind of leaving. Like, professionally. She’ll stop being my assistant if I don’t come. I mean, not my assistant. My CEO. She’ll stop being my CEO and then I will have to be CEO again.” 

“Well, I’m sorry?” Steve frowns like he’s confused. He probably is. Lord knows Tony’s not even making sense to himself. “What did you need me for again?” 

“I need you to go with me.” Steve raises his eyebrows. “Just-- She told me to come with someone, and everyone else is busy, so--” 

“So I’m your last resort?” Steve has that stupid pinched look in his eyes that means his feelings are hurt and Christ, Tony can’t stand it. He winces; he didn’t mean for it to sound that way. It just sort of happened. 

“Well, no, and yes, but I also like spending time with you? I mean, if I wanted to go alone, I’d go alone, but I’d really like you to come with me. If you want. You don’t have to. It’s okay if you don’t want to. So?” Shut up, shut up, it’s time to shut up. Tony clamps his mouth shut and holds out his arms. 

“Yeah, I’ll go.” Steve nods, taking another drink of his water and Tony actually manages not to stare this time. “Just tell me when and where I need to be.” 

“Will do, don’t worry about it,” Tony says, backing up out of the gym. “And don’t worry about the mess, I’ll have someone clean it up.” Steve nods and turns away and Tony stops moving. “And Steve?”

Steve turns to look at him. 

“Thanks for doing this for me.” 

“It’s not a problem, Tony,” he says, and Tony flees the gym. 

\---

Tony realizes much too late that he may have horrifically underestimated his feelings for Steve. 

It starts when Steve comes down the stairs from his apartment in the suit _someone_ bought for him, because Steve definitely didn’t buy it himself. It fits him too well, for one thing, and it’s not standard black, but a nice navy with a slight sheen and a skinny black tie. He looks like some sort of hipster wet-dream, and Tony’s mind literally goes blank when he sees him. He just can’t think. He can’t even make an embarrassing noise. It’s more than a little humiliating. 

“You ready to go?” Steve asks, smiling in a polite sort of way that Tony hates. Tony manages to nod and spit out a quick yes. “Good,” Steve says, and _offers his arm._ Tony takes it because-- well, what do you do when someone offers their arm? Tony usually does the offering but he isn’t averse to being offered and he doesn’t want to be rude because that would be horrible and okay. Tony. Breathe. 

“Which car do you want?” Tony asks when they get down to the garage. “Happy’s got the night off. You want the Rolls? You look like Rolls kind of guy. Or are you a Cadillac man?” 

“What about that one?” Steve points to a small, silver Audi that Tony hasn’t thought about in weeks, much less driven. 

“The R8, excellent choice.” Tony nods. “I figured you were more of a classic man. I have a Thunderbird, you know. Just in case.” 

Steve smiles at him, and not the bullshit polite smile but an actual smile that crinkles up the sides of his eyes. Damn it. Not helping. “No, it’s fine. I like this one. We can save the Thunderbird for another time.” That’s good, because Tony’s pretty sure the Thunderbird is still in Malibu. Not that Steve needs to know that.

“All right, but I just want you to remember that I offered.” Tony grabs the keys and opens the door for him, closing it when Steve’s all settled. He gives himself a quick glance in the passenger window and shuffles over to his own side. When he starts it, Steve can’t keep his hands off the dashboard. 

“If you’re good,” Tony says, smirking at him from the side, “I’ll let you drive on the way back.” 

The smile Steve gives him is more than worth it. 

\---

The party is exactly as Tony anticipated. That is to say: boring as fuck. The one good thing is watching Steve schmooze with the old rich women-- who, as Rhodey quite accurately predicted, love him-- and then teasing him for it once they’re gone. 

“Tony,” Steve says, after the third or fourth time Tony makes a crack about a hat-- what? it has fake birds on it. _Birds._ \--“you should really be nicer. They’re planning to donate.” Tony can tell, though, that there’s not much weight behind it. Steve’s not as nice as he seems. Tony knows this. He has no _recent_ solid proof (the helicarrier doesn’t count; Tony’s still trying to get rid of the sting of those words), but he knows it in his bones. 

“Steve,” Tony says, gently mocking, putting a hand to Steve’s lower back and leaning up to speak in Steve’s ear. What? He’s particularly reckless today. “I’d be happy to accept any donation Ms. Pettigrew and her prize collection of shrews want to give the Maria Stark Foundation, really. I respect her and her side-job as a taxidermist.” 

The solid line of Steve’s mouth cracks, and he’s chuckling and Tony’s chest feels a little too warm and a little too full. He rubs at it again, glancing around the crowded room. 

“You want some air?” Tony asks, barely even waiting for Steve’s nod to lead him out to a balcony, hand still firmly on his lower back. There’s a few other couples out there, but it’s also a big balcony, so Tony manages to find them a secluded corner. 

Steve stares out at the gardens while Tony leans his back against the railing, hip right next to Steve’s hand. He pretends not to notice the heat Steve’s radiating, and how he wants to curl up in it and never leave. This can’t be healthy. It can’t be. 

“Thanks for bringing me tonight,” Steve says, leaning in and speaking so quietly that Tony has to lean in a little bit too. 

“Not a problem. Like I said, I enjoy your company.” Tony’s eyes flick up to catch his gaze briefly before looking away. 

There’s a pause before Steve takes a deep breath and then leans closer, forehead almost touching Tony’s. He can smell the mint again, like a breath mint or toothpaste and also the soap that Steve insists on buying himself from the store and maybe some cologne? No. Not strong enough to be cologne. Steve wouldn’t buy something that frivolous anyway. 

“Tony.” He looks up and meets Steve’s eyes again. It takes Tony too long to realize that he’d been staring at his mouth. Fuck, Steve’s mouth-- his beautiful, soft mouth and the idea of kissing him again makes Tony’s knees want to melt or some stupid shit like that. God, what is it with him and cliches? Is he actually a romantic and never knew it? What a fucking joke that would be. 

“Yeah?” Oh, and Tony’s staring at Steve’s mouth again, particularly the corner where Steve’s lip is a little uneven, like he worries it between his teeth. Tony wants to run his tongue over it. Fuck. 

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Steve says-- breathes it really because they’re so fucking close together and it would be so easy for Tony to just give in and kiss him again. 

Tony opens his mouth to respond, but the doors bang open and the moment shatters. Steve moves to the side when Tony turns away sharply from him and Pepper strides onto the balcony like she didn’t interrupt perhaps the single most important moment of Tony’s life while looking devastatingly beautiful while she does it. Her dress is long and green and cut in a deep V in both the front and back. Tonight is just not Tony’s night. 

“I thought I’d find you out here. Hiding already?” Pepper smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Forced, then. Good. He hopes she still hurts like he does sometimes. 

“Of course not,” he says, straightening and pushing away from the railing to give her a hug. Well, it’s more like a pat on the back. Whatever it is, it’s awful. “Just getting some fresh air. Do you need me for something?” 

“It’s almost time for your speech. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the artist responsible for...” Pepper trails off into some long explanation about the benefit and Tony glances back at Steve, who’s staring at him. He shrugs a little, mouths ‘sorry’ and follows Pepper when she starts back for the doors. 

He leaves Steve out on the balcony and doesn’t see him again until after the speech. 

\---

The ride back is horribly silent. 

Tony lets Steve drive, because he’s a man of his word and Steve looks kind of miserable by the time Tony finds him again. The driving doesn’t seem to help much, and Tony finds himself actually looking out the window at the buildings as they go. The tower isn’t far from where the event is held-- Tony knows it’s pretty ostentatious of him to drive anywhere-- but still, Steve keeps going and Tony lets him. He figures Steve knows what he’s doing. 

He starts to get worried when Steve gets on the highway and takes a strange exit. They end up on a road in the middle of the woods and Tony’s only forty-eight percent sure that Steve’s not going to murder him and dump his body.

Steve pulls the car into a rest stop and turns it off, resting his hands on the steering wheel. Neither of them says anything for a long time before Tony can’t take it anymore. 

“If you’re going to kill me, could you do it now? This whole suspense and tension thing is killing me.” 

Steve huffs out a breath that sounds like a laugh and okay, that’s a good sign, right? “I’m not going to kill you, Tony. I just wanted to think. To talk, I guess. Without everything in the city, you know? No distractions.”

“Right, no distractions.” Okay, so Steve’s not killing him, but they have to talk about feelings? Tony might prefer the murder. 

There’s another pause, and Tony clears his throat. “So, what did you want to talk about?” 

“You--” Steve sighs. “I need to-- I need to know, Tony. How you feel about me. If we’re just friends, that’s fine, I can live with that. But you keep-- I keep getting _signals,_ and hints and I just--” He stops, takes a deep breath. His knuckles are white along the steering wheel and Tony’s briefly amazed at the fact that it hasn’t cracked yet. “Do you like me, Tony? If you don’t, you have to stop acting this way. It’s not fair.” 

Christ. Tony knows it’s not fair. Tony knows he’s being selfish by wanting to kiss Steve and not wanting to talk about it. He knows he’s being selfish when he stares too long at the line of Steve’s shoulders in a suit or when he sits too close to Steve at the table. He knows it’s selfish, but he can’t stop. He grew up getting everything he ever wanted and tossing it to the side when it wasn’t what he wanted anymore. He knows he can’t do that to Steve. Steve’s right. It’s not fair. 

“I--” Tony winces, closes his eyes and puts his face in his hands. “I do like you, I guess--” He hears a sharp intake of breath, and God, what he would give to see Steve’s face right now. “--but you don’t-- I’m not good enough for you, Steve. I’m selfish, I’m unkind and you don’t--” He feels a hand on his wrist, tugging his hand away from his face. 

“Tony,” Steve says, but Tony shakes his head. 

“No, you don’t get it, Steve. My whole life I’ve gotten whatever I wanted because I wanted it. If it didn’t exist, I made it. I want you, okay? I want you. But then I think about what happens if I get bored or if you get bored and-- look, it was hard enough breaking up with Pepper. Don’t you remember how miserable--”

“Tony,” Steve says, interrupting, bringing a hand to cup Tony’s cheek. “Shut up.” And then he leans over the center console and kisses him. 

It’s uncomfortable, because Tony’s seatbelt is digging into his neck and the console is digging into his ribs, but Steve’s mouth is softer than Tony remembers and he tastes like mint, still but also a little like champagne. Like Steve took a drink thinking it’d make him braver, not remembering that alcohol has no effect because of the serum and Tony can’t handle that thought. It makes him sad and enthralled at the same time, and he doesn’t want to be thinking right now anyway because Steve Rogers is _kissing him._

Tony reaches over for the lapel of Steve’s jacket to tug him closer, a jolt of excitement hitting him in the gut when Steve makes a small, breathy sound against his mouth. Steve’s hand makes it into Tony’s hair and tangles there, pulling just the slightest bit so he’s controlling the kiss. It’s fine, that’s totally okay with Tony. For once he’s happy to just sit there and take it. 

When they finally pull away for breath, Steve’s eyes are blown almost black, which sends another spike of excitement down Tony’s spine and makes him want to climb over the console and into Steve’s lap. But no, no. Self-control. They haven’t even finished their conversation. (And wow, why is Tony being the responsible one here?)

“You can’t just fucking kiss me every time you want me to shut up,” Tony says, still a little bit breathless but edging on smiling. Steve’s smiling, eyes crinkled and the whole shebang. Tony feels a little weak in the knees. Definitely a romantic, then. 

“You sure about that?” Steve asks, and fuck-- _fuck_ , Tony wants this. He wants it more than anything he’s had in a long time. Maybe more than anything he’s ever had. But, no, he can’t. Steve deserves better than him. 

“Yeah,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “I am. You can’t just-- I don’t--” 

“Tony,” Steve says calmly, placing a hand on top of Tony’s mouth, silencing him. “It’s okay. I know that it isn’t the best way to solve problems, but you were freaking out. I thought it would calm you down. Maybe.” 

Tony pouts at him until he moves his hand away. “Well. I guess it worked. But really, Steve. I know you think you want this-- like, a relationship, but you just-- You don’t know. I’m awful. I’m in the workshop for days at a time. I’d ignore you and then just use you for sex. I’d be drunk all the time, I’d be too distant. There are a thousand ways to fuck up a relationship, Steve, and I’m good at every single one of them.”

“Giving yourself a lot of credit, there,” Steve says, raising an eyebrow. “Is it so hard to believe that maybe I’m willing to work with you here? I’m not-- I don’t want perfection, Tony. I want you.” 

“Uh, ouch?” 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I don’t need--” Steve waves his hand like it’s going to help Tony understand what the hell he means. “--I don’t need a picket fence and two kids and-- and a dog. I like you, Tony. And I want to try.” 

Tony stares at him for a moment before looking away and then back again. “I’m going to screw it up,” he says, voice small, and Steve tilts his head. 

“Well, yeah you are if you keep thinking like that. Look, I don’t want to force you into anything, but will you promise to think about it? Really think about it. I’ll even leave you alone for a few days.” Steve looks at him with wide eyes, and fuck, he’s playing so dirty. Tony sighs and nods. 

“Yeah. I’ll think about it, okay? But it’s a bad idea.” 

Steve only smiles as he starts the car again and turns them around.


End file.
